


In the Fields of Solidago

by f4nf4n



Series: Kentucky Wildflowers [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: F/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f4nf4n/pseuds/f4nf4n
Summary: Being the best marksman in Kentucky has its pitfalls, like being loaned out to every state or federal agency in the tri-state area in need of a dead-shot sniper.  When just such an arrangement is made, Tim Gutterson finds himself pulled into a case that has nothing to do with his job, but everything to do with his humanity.
Relationships: Tim Gutterson/Original Character(s), Tim Gutterson/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Kentucky Wildflowers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772710
Comments: 22
Kudos: 31





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my COVID Quarantine fanfic! I binge watched Justified on Hulu and Tim's snark and sarcasm spoke to me on a deep and cynical level. In my opinion, we don't learn nearly enough about him in canon, so I thought we'd delve a little deeper with the help of a character I developed for an original story, but who I thought fit into the world of Justified.
> 
> I hope you enjoy & that I do justice (no pun intended) to Tim, Art, and the rest of our beloved Marshals.

It was a slow Thursday. Painfully slow. Nothing but paperwork and killing seconds until they turned to minutes and then to hours and eventually to quitting time. The entire Lexington Marshals office was cloaked in a dank sense of boredom and restlessness. Rachel was the first to notice her when she walked in, though Raylan was quicker than usual to look up from his desk, glad for any distraction from the monotony of case reports and background checks.

She was petite, with an auburn bob and a hard set face. Rachel noticed her lack of makeup first because of the dark circles under her eyes, and while she couldn't be totally sure, Rachel was pretty sure she'd given herself that haircut. Raylan appraised her attire; a faded Charlie Daniels Band t-shirt tucked into a high-waisted pair of jeans, but with a blazer and heels. It was an interesting interpretation of business casual, and he thought she looked out of place in the office. They both noticed the thick manila envelope in her hands as she scanned the room.

The woman caught Raylan's eyes first. "Mullen?"

Raylan pointed and she strode off toward his office without so much as a nod of thanks.

Art didn't notice her until she was in the doorway, and she didn't hesitate before striding directly over to him and holding the envelope out to him. "Chief Deputy Mullen." It was neither question, nor an introduction; just a statement that she knew who he was and the envelope was for him.

She glanced over to her right and her eyes landed on Tim, who had been briefing Art on an ongoing court case. "You must be Deputy Marshal Gutterson," she said, matter-of-fact.

Tim squinted, curious, "And what makes you say that?"

She pointed to her forearm and Tim looked at his own, rolled up sleeves revealing his sniper rifle tattoo. "Fair enough," he said, "And you are...?"

"I'm parked in the visitors' lot. You'll need your car, but meet me over there when you're ready." The woman nodded at Art as he looked up from the documents in his hands. "It's been a pleasure." And then she was gone as abruptly as she'd entered.

Tim looked at Art incredulously, "What the hell was that?"

"That," Art said, "was way above my pay grade." He handed Tim a sheet of paper from the file. "Looks like you're being lent out to another agency. Needs a sniper. And you're leaving now."

Tim read over the sheet in his hands and was keen to notice the lack of details. The secrecy of it all certainly piqued his interest, though it also set his teeth on edge not knowing exactly what he was walking into.

"Do I have a choice?" he asked.

"Not as far as I can tell," said Art, "You better get going, she didn't seem very patient."

Tim smirked and headed to his desk to grab his jacket. On his way past, Raylan and Rachel both looked up inquisitively. "What's going on?" Raylan asked, hating as always to be kept out of the loop.

"Hell if I know," Tim said and he was out the door, wondering what waited for him down in the visitors' parking area.


	2. A Room with a View

As Tim pulled into the visitors' parking lot, he wondered not for the first time whether the years he spent in the Rangers would ever truly be a part of his past. They seemed always to dog him in the present, no matter how often he tried to put them out of his mind. How many times had he been lent to the Staties or some FBI bozos who needed a sniper as part of a security detail? He couldn't possibly be the only vet available who could reasonably use a scope to kill a man if needed.

He spotted the redhead next to a blue Toyota. She had already taken off her blazer, which he spotted on a hanger in the backseat, and she was trading her black heels for a pair of slip-ons with rubber soles. He parked beside her and watched as she stashed the heels in a shoe box. Without the sleeves, he could some small, badly done tattoos scattered across her wrists and forearms.

"Howdy, Deputy. I appreciate your being prompt."

Tim stepped out of the car, irritated by her flippancy. "Happy to oblige, ma'am, now would you be able to tell me what the shit is going on?"

She held her hand out and he took it. "I'm Kathryn. You can call me Kat, Kate, Katie... anything but Kathy, really. I work for someone who works for someone who your boss can't say no to, and that means you are stuck with me for the weekend. I hope you didn't have any big plans." She hadn't spoken enough in the office for Tim to realize just how quickly and clearly the words tumbled out of her mouth. That meant she wasn't from Kentucky, surely, and he found himself wondering where the soft twang he detected might have originated from. The exclusion of a last name also piqued Tim's interest, but he decided now was not the time to pursue that particular line of inquiry.

"Well, I don't have any fancy dress clothes in my go bag, so I hope we're not attending a wedding," he said.

Kathryn smiled. "We're headed out toward Bowling Green. You can follow me down and we'll talk more when we get there. You won't need your tux, but a nice tie wouldn't hurt." She winked at him and got back in her car.

The drive was dull. He wondered, if they were supposed to be working together, why they needed two vehicles. Wouldn't it have saved time and energy for her to brief him in the car, rather than wasting nearly three hours of dead time? He felt his frustration building, his hands tightening on the steering wheel at the unnecessary complexity and secrecy and uncertainty. He had to mindfully bring himself back to the moment, breathe through his nose, and focus intently on the Toyota in front of him on the highway. It turned out they weren't really headed to Bowling Green, though he supposed it was the nearest big name on a map, which just bolstered his suspicion that she was not from Kentucky.

The motel they stopped at was next to a Wendy's on Rt. 231. Calling it shabby would have been a compliment of the highest order.

He parked next to her once again and jumped out to stretch his legs. She walked up to a door and let herself in while Tim stood behind her with his bag slung over his shoulder. "Don't you think it's a little early in the relationship for us to be bunking together?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "While I prefer the ground floor, I figured you might be more comfortable higher up."

Tim gave the motel a once over, "It's only three stories..."

She handed him a key card, "And I got you the penthouse. Room 306. Drop your stuff and then come back down. We'll walk through everything." He turned to go, "Do you have any strong feelings about pizza toppings?"

"No fruit, no veg," he said without turning back.

#

When Tim knocked, Kathryn opened the door abruptly, as if he'd kept her waiting.

Her room was much the same as his; a double bed flanked by two nightstands, with a coffee maker on one and an alarm clock on the other, a TV on the bureau and a small table with two chairs on the opposite side of the room under a window. There was a distinctive lived-in feeling to the room, though, despite the fact that it smelled fresh and clean, so he assumed she'd been staying there a while. Tim also noticed a caddy of cleaning supplies on the bureau next to the television. "Did you kidnap the maid?"

She followed his eyes. "Those are mine," she said, and when he raised his eyebrows, she clarified, "I find that my budgetary restrictions don't allow for accommodations that meet my standards of cleanliness, so I generally bring some supplies with me."

"Is that a vacuum?" he asked, pointing to the corner.

"Deputy Gutterson, if you insist on playing 20 Questions, we are going to be here for a very, very long time. As it stands, I have just over a day to catch you up and make sure you can do what you've been brought here for. While I'm sure your sarcastic and inquisitive nature is quite charming at the office holiday party, I really find no use for it in this instance."

Tim smiled, nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

Kathryn folded herself into one of the chairs at the table, and he followed suit, setting himself up across from her and scanning the pages scattered across the table. For someone who brought her own Lysol to a motor inn, she certainly seemed fine with a little disorganization. Picturing this mess on his own desk back at the Marshals office made him sweat.

"Deputy Gutterson," she started, as she began shuffling papers together into slightly neater stacks, "this weekend, you will be assisting me with a meeting that is the culmination of eight years of undercover work. I expect you will be professional and discreet. You are not to disclose any of the information we discuss regarding this case with anyone you work with at the Lexington Marshals office, as the extent of my work is beyond their purview. Do you have any questions?" She stopped shuffling and looked up at him.

"Eight years? Did you start when you were twel--"

She smacked her stack of paperwork down on the table, "Again, Deputy Marshal, if you cannot or will not take this seriously, I'd ask that you let me know now. I don't have the time, and neither do you, for childish antics that delay your ability to understand the full scope of what you and I are doing here." She leveled her gaze at him, looking about ready to jump across the table.

Tim licked his lips, disappointed in her seriousness and surprised by anger. Tim had always used his sarcasm to cope with the deadly nature of his vocation as a sniper. Just as he was about to open his mouth, there was a knock on the door and Kathryn tore her eyes away from him to stalk over to it.

Tim watched closely as she took $40 out of a wallet on the bureau with her right hand, and pulled a handgun from a holster with her left. She cocked the hammer and held the gun up to the door as she opened it carefully.

He heard a man's voice announce the arrival of their pizza, but still the gun stayed pointed at the door, even as she smiled brightly, handed over the cash, and took their dinner. "Keep the change," she said, and closed the door, finally lowering her weapon and replacing the hammer with care before holstering it with one hand.

"Afraid they'd forgotten to include extra cheese?" he asked, nodding toward the holster.

"Have you not found that a healthy dose of paranoia pays off in your line of work?" She handed him a pizza box. He was earnestly surprised to see that they each had their own. "I kept it simple; half cheese, half pep. Hope that works for you. Now, if you're ready to be serious, I'd be happy to start walking you through what we'll be doing this weekend." She placed her pizza box on the windowsill, flipped it open, and grabbed a slice before tapping it back closed. He followed her lead, opting for pepperoni. Looking across at her meal, he was no longer interested in knowing anything about her. There was broccoli on her slice.

#

Two hours later, half the pizza was gone and Tim had a somewhat clearer idea of what he being asked to do, though he still wasn't sure why he was being asked to do it. The file she'd handed him provided details on three particularly ill-tempered men and one timid-looking librarian who seemed not to belong with them, as far as he could tell. It gave details of the area he would be in, specs on the rifle he would be provided with. She had offered to answer questions as he perused to the folder, but he decided deliberately to wait until the end. He closed the folder slowly, which drew her attention back from the notes she was writing in a small notebook.

"Why me?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Kathryn leveled him with a serious gaze, weighing her answer. "When we decided using a sniper was the most prudent option, I was helpfully provided with files on six available in the tri-state area. I thought you were best suited for the job."

"Why?"

"You know a lot of snipers wind up trigger happy? They'll pull even when they don't need to. And of course, there's always the trainees who get out there and can't pull when it's necessary. I looked through every shot you ever took, and the ones you didn't. I never found an instance where I thought you were either too eager or too reluctant to do what needed to be done. I need someone who won't hesitate, but also someone who is patient enough to wait."

"And why, exactly, would I need to wait? It seems pretty clear to me the great state of Kentucky, and the world at large, would be no worse off without at least three of these gentleman sucking up valuable oxygen." She smile in agreement.

Kathryn opened the file back up and leaned back in her chair. "I told you, I've been working my way through this case for eight years. Last week, I received word that my position may have been compromised by some shit-kicker CI, but we don't know that for sure, yet," she leaned forward again, pointing at the photo on top of the file. "If my dual interests have in fact been revealed, this man, Serge Solkov will get on a plane to a non-extradition country and we will never see him again. These two," she pointed at the other ill-tempered individuals, "are middle-management. If I'm compromised, we need them alive in order for my colleagues to trace them back to other higher ups in their organization. And this one," she pointed to the mousy, pale librarian with a boyish face, "as much as I'd like to murder him with my own teeth, he isn't worth the ammunition.

"The reason I chose you over the other files on my desk is because I need someone who will wait, who will follow orders, and who won't hesitate once that order is given, no matter what it is. If my information is bad and I'm not compromised, you are to stand down. If my cover is blown, you are to kill Solkov, but leave the others alive." She leaned back again, watching him, waiting for his response.

"And what happens to you, then?" he asked, genuinely curious how she thought this would all shake out if he shot one villain just to leave the others alone.

"That is not part of your directive." The stared at one another for a moment, as he weighed the implications of her statement.

Tim stood up, adjusting his trousers, and mulled over this information. He turned to her, finally, and asked, "Who do you work for?"

Kathryn shook her head. "It doesn't matter. That's the job, and that's it." She stood then as well, walking past Tim to the bureau and picking up a bottle of scotch he hadn't noticed from behind her cleaning caddy. She grabbed two paper cups from next to the coffee maker and gave them each a healthy pour before extending one toward him.

"No bourbon? Or beer?" he asked, eyeing the bottle in her hands incredulously.

"I drink scotch or I drink gin, and it's not warm enough for gin."

Tim took the cup from her, sipped it, and coughed. "Jesus. That's... uh, earthy." He coughed again.

Kathryn smiled and sipped her drink leisurely. "That's about enough for tonight, I think, Deputy. Feel free to take the pizza back up with you. I'll contact you tomorrow morning. I want to take you to the meeting spot, so you can familiarize yourself."

Tim finished his liquor with some amount of difficulty, grabbed the pizza box, and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Deputy Gutterson," she said, as he opened the door.

"Ma'am," he said, and he heard her lock up quickly behind him.


	3. Early Riser

Tim's eyes shot open just before 6AM. It took him a few moments to remember where he was because the ceiling he was staring at was clearly not his own, but he relaxed once he realized the shitty popcorn texture was nothing nefarious; just the motel's way of reminding you it was built in the '70s.

Tim had learned a long time ago that sleeping in just wasn't for him anymore. If he was lucky, he'd make it until 6:30, maybe 7 if he'd been on a bender, but that was it. He actually liked the cool morning air and soft light before the sun was fully risen, but that didn't change the fact that he'd been up late and his body felt tired as he dragged it out from beneath the scratchy sheets.

After he'd left Kathryn's room, he'd had every intention of falling asleep immediately, but his mind couldn't help turning over what he was being asked to do. Shoot a man--maybe--but not the other men--definitely--and potentially let her die in the process--probably. It was a little too neo-noir for his tastes, and it didn't sit right with him. Why all the secrecy and obtuse explanation? He felt like he was on a fucking black op, except he was in the middle of some bumblefuck Kentucky nowhere town.

Tim climbed out of bed and stretched, loosening his neck and shoulders. Normally, he'd go for a run in the morning, but he figured he should stay put in case Kathryn called; he had no idea when she thought was an appropriate time to head over to the site she'd chosen. He wondered how optimal his location would be. It sounded like it would only be a mid-range target, so he was hopeful he'd have clear vision, but he'd been burned by that hope before, especially when untrained personnel were involved in the decision making process.

Since he wasn't going for a run, Tim decided to skip straight to the shower after he started up the little coffee maker for a much needed caffeine kick. He started with the hottest water he could stand to loosen his muscles, and then blasted himself with cold water for two minutes to wake himself up. By the time he'd brushed his teeth and gotten dressed it was about quarter after 6, so he pulled on his boots and sat down at the table with his cup of bad coffee and a copy of "The Hobbit" he'd borrowed from Nelson (or maybe Nelson's kid).

His phone buzzed at 6:30 on the dot with a text instead of a phone call. _Meet at the car in 10._

Tim downed the last of his coffee, tightened his laces and headed straight for the door as he yanked on his holster and jacket. He didn't see the sense of waiting 10 minutes if he was already ready to go, and he couldn't get into this chapter anyway. What was the deal with all those riddles?

Tim was right in assuming she had meant her own car, and he was surprised to find that she was already leaning against it when he came down, wearing an outfit similar to the one she'd had on the day before, except this time he didn't recognize whatever band was on her t-shirt. In lieu of the canvas slip-ons, she was wearing heavy boots, and she'd thrown a black canvas jacket on against the chilly morning air.

"'Morning, Deputy Gutterson," she said, smiling up at him.

"Ma'am. That was a mighty quick 10 minutes."

She shrugged, and tossed him a muffin wrapped in cling film. "Hope you like blueberry, the only other thing at the," she lifted her hands and made air quotes, "'continental breakfast' today was some abomination with golden raisins in it. There's a coffee in the car for you."

Tim unwrapped the muffin and took a bite, appreciative of her thoughtfulness. He wouldn't have guessed this dive had muffins, even if they were stale as hell.

#

Kathryn's car was an older model, but it was clean inside. She had one of those tape deck auxiliary cords plugged into an old iPod, but she didn't play any music while Tim was in the car. He wondered whether she was simply being polite, or if she thought her music selection might lose her some authority.

Tim noticed the blazer and shoe box from the day before still in the backseat and found himself asking before he could stop himself, "Do you always keep those in your car?"

Kathryn glanced in the rear view mirror. "The blazer, you mean?"

"And the shoes."

"Pretty much, yeah. That way I always have them when I need to throw them on. I find them unnecessarily restrictive to wear on any kind of a regular basis."

"I used to wear a tie," Tim said by way of answer, "Couldn't get down with that much, either."

They were in the car for about 45 minutes before Kathryn pulled onto a narrow dirt road that bumped them along. Tim observed his surroundings carefully; noticing the thick trees on either side that made it difficult to see if anyone was waiting off the side of the road. It made him tense, but it could also be used to their advantage, which was clearly what she had thought as well.

Kathryn pulled off the side of the road, down into a shallow ditch and turned off the car. The two of them exited and Tim instinctively looked around, listening for any sign they were not alone, but the trees were silent, rustled only by a gentle breeze. His hand rested on the gun in his holster, but Kathryn seemed relaxed. "Let's go," she said, and she stepped into the trees. Tim followed at a comfortable distance, mentally mapping the unseen path they followed. It was obvious she had been here before, probably several times, as she picked her way easily through the underbrush.

They had been walking a while when the movement of a bush a few meters to his left caught his attention.

"You ever see any rattlers out here?"

"Nope," she said without looking back. "Obviously, no guarantees, but the only serpent I've come across was a milk snake and that was only once. I'd be more worried about ticks if I were you."

Just then, they entered what appeared to be a clearing, but was actually just the side of the slope they were on. On the other side and down a sharp drop about 60 feet was a field filled with goldenrod late in their blooming season.

"That's where we'll be meeting," Kathryn pointed out across the field to a flat patch of gravel with some old construction equipment on it. "They were going to level this and build a hotel or something, but the site's been abandoned for months. See that access road on the other side?" Tim nodded, "That's where I'll be coming in from."

Tim looked out across the field and estimated that the road across the field was probably about 500 meters, which meant he'd be firing at a shorter range than that. The two cars made sense, now. "And the other guys?"

She turned to face him, "That's the only road in or out, so there shouldn't be any surprises. They might be expecting me to come with someone, but they won't think to look for you over here. These men are unimaginative and think they're smarter than I am, they have no reason to suspect I might know anything I shouldn't." She sat down on a rock and continued, "Besides, to get to the road we came in on, they'd have to drive almost an hour out of their way. There's no direct route connecting them, and these guys aren't from around here, so it's unlikely they even know it exists. The road we took is an old logging route; it isn't even on Google Maps because it's technically not in use."

Tim was impressed that she'd thought through this location as much as she had, and he had to admit to himself that she'd done a fair job, especially on what appeared to be a relatively short amount of time. He wondered how she'd known about the road, but decided it wasn't worth asking.

"Obviously, I'm no sniper, so if you don't think this location will work, that's fine, but we should take the day to figure something else out. There's no way I can move the location of the meeting so close."

Tim wandered along the tree line, picking his way carefully around the boulders and brush. "This area will be fine. The meeting's at 1?"

"They told me to be here at 1, which means they will likely arrive around noon."

Tim nodded. "I'll setup before that, then. 10, probably. I'd like to keep an eye on them coming in. It'll also give me a chance to contact you if anything is off; different people than you expect, more of them, that sort of thing."

"That's fine." Kathryn stood. "Is there anything else you'd like to see while we're here?"

"I'd like to take a look at that rifle."

She smiled. "Of course. It's in the trunk, come on."

Tim stepped in front of her. "Let me. I want to make sure I know my way back out." Kathryn nodded and let him lead. "Wouldn't wanna get stuck out here with all the ticks and rattlers." He heard Kathryn laugh from behind him, and he smiled.

#

Tim stepped out of the trees about a 100 feet in front of Kathryn's Toyota. "Not bad, Deputy," she said.

"I also know my ABCs," he replied and followed the ditch down to her car.

When Kathryn opened the trunk and unzipped the case, Tim's eyes lit up. The one thing he had missed about the military versus the Marshal service was the weaponry. While there was certainly nothing wrong with the Remington or the Bushmaster he typically put to use while on duty, there was something much more elegant about the M110, and when he'd read that in the file last night, he had felt an unexpected thrill swirl in his chest.

Of course, he reminded himself, it was a violent machine designed for murder, but there was no denying that if you were going to do a job, you may as well use the best tool suited to it.

"I half-expected this to be a joke."

"It took a bit of finagling to get it, but I know it's what you used most often at the end of your last tour. I thought if I was taking you away from your work, I should at least make sure you knew I took your position and ability seriously."

"It's been a long time since I've used anything military issue. This will certainly make my job easier." Tim pulled the rifle out of its case and held it in his hands. It felt familiar and weighty, and his hands wrapped around it like a they were greeting an old friend.

"Never much cared for rifles, myself, which is only one reason on a long list that I am not a marksman." Kathryn peeled her jacket off and threw it onto the roof of her car. The sun was climbing higher now, and the autumn morning chill had mostly dissipated, leaving a pleasant warmth in its wake. As she crossed her arms across her chest, Tim noticed some of the tattoos again. He was surprised not only by the number--there were half a dozen, at least, but at their crudeness. He obviously didn't know much about Kathryn, but most of these looked barely a step above prison ink.

Reluctantly, Tim replaced the rifle in its case, looking forward to the next time he would be able to hold it. His arms felt light and empty without it. "You can take it up with you tonight; it's been cleaned and inspected recently, but I'm sure you'd rather do it yourself."

Kathryn slammed the trunk closed and Tim couldn't help himself. "Your tattoos mean anything?" he asked.

She glanced up at him, but he couldn't read her face. "Some of them," she said. And then she grabbed her jacket and got back in the driver's seat, leaving him no choice but to drop the conversation and follow.


	4. Liquid Breakfast

Tim never slept much the night before a sniper mission. Despite his deliberately laid-back affectation, he was ultimately a perfectionist--a fact which Raylan recognized and often took advantage of. After Kathryn had driven back to their motel, Tim had retired to his room and taken his time going over every detail of the assignment before him. He had inspected and cleaned the M110, carefully packing it away in its case and storing it neatly beneath his bed. Then, he had re-read the folder Kathryn had given him over and over until he had memorized each word.

It was obvious there was information missing from what Kathryn had provided to him. The profiles on each of the four men were too neat and concise, and the thought that he was being deliberately sent into a situation where he did not have all the information he needed made him angry. He felt a warm splash of irritation in his belly, and it only swelled and stretched within him as he continued to pour over the file. He knew everything he was being told about Solkov, the man he would likely need to kill, his two lackeys Melnik and Popesku, and even the mousy librarian (whose name was Ralph Ibsen) backward and forward. They seemed an odd quartet, and he wanted desperately to understand what thread could have possibly pulled them all together. He could see illegal arms trading and drug trafficking listed for the the first three, but Ibsen seemed wholly apart from them. Who was he and why was he important to them? Tim had to stop himself more than once from stalking down to Kathryn's room to demand more intel. He knew, though, from experience, that if she hadn't shared that information yet, it wouldn't be forthcoming tonight. Especially if his instincts about who she worked for proved true.

When Tim's hands started shaking, he decided to take a drive to calm his nerves and soothe his frustration. He raced down Rt. 231 in the dark, listening to the radio as loudly as his speakers would allow. Still, his heart raced and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. He rolled the windows down and let the cool evening whip through his hair. It only took an hour before he felt his grip on the steering wheel ease, and he turned around to head back to the motel. He pulled back into the parking lot just before 1AM, though not before he had picked up a bottle of bottom shelf bourbon from a gas station.

Tim didn't like to drink much the night before a mission that required focus, but a single firm pour was enough to soften the tension in his shoulders and allow him to catch a few hours of sleep.

His eyes snapped open even earlier than usual and he rolled out of bed just after 5, taking a shower and brewing a pot of coffee. He sat in the dark taking in as much caffeine as he could, fidgeting and jittery. He was anxious to start the day. The waiting was always the worst part of what he did; the cold anticipation of things going wrong before he'd even had a chance to make them right. He eventually realized it was futile to attempt any sort of focus in his room and decided instead to pack his car. As he closed the trunk with his go bag, bourbon, and borrowed rifle tucked away inside, he noticed light spilling out from around the curtains of Kathryn's room. He hesitated a moment, and then decided it couldn't hurt to check in with her.

When she opened the door, Kathryn was wearing a pair of leggings and a baseball t-shirt that had certainly seen better days, with her short hair wrestled into an unruly bun at the back of her head. He could hear some music playing, but it was too quiet for him to even pick out a genre. "Deputy Marshal Gutterson, good morning," she said, standing easily on one leg with her other foot resting at her calf.

"'Morning, ma'am. May I come in?" She stepped aside, and he walked straight to her coffee pot, which was still half-full, as she replaced her revolver in the holster she still had stashed near the door. "You know," he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee without asking, "you'd save yourself a lot of trouble if you used a semi-auto instead of that old thing."

She shrugged. "I have others. But I prefer the intentionality of this one when I have the luxury. If I'm going to shoot someone, I'd prefer it to be a decision than a reflex."

Tim took a seat at her table, coffee in hand, and surveyed the room. He saw that she had packed her suitcase already, but left an outfit laid out on her well-made bed. He wondered whether she had made it herself this morning, or if the neatly tucked corners were leftover from yesterday and she had simply foregone sleep in the hours since he'd seen her. He also spotted a yoga mat rolled out next to the bed, and a glass of scotch she had poured for breakfast.

"Did I interrupt your morning meditation?" he asked, smiling over the top of his paper coffee cup.

"In fact, you did," she said, taking a seat across from him with her drink in hand.

"Seems counterproductive with the whiskey," he said. Kathryn smiled at his remark, but took a sip anyway.

"Usually, a little yoga is enough to keep me level-headed each day. While I don't recommend a liquid breakfast regularly, I thought today I would make an exception."

They settled into a companionable silence, and Tim caught some more of the music, though he couldn't see where it was playing from. It was soft and melodic; an acoustic guitar and a single clear tenor voice. He didn't recognize the tune. His eyes slid over to Kathryn, who was staring off at something only she could see.

"Do you have any questions about today?" she asked him, "Now's your chance."

Tim thought of all the questions he had. He remembered the anger he felt yesterday at realizing how little information he was actually being given. He scratched at the tattoo on his chest, frustrated by the bureaucracy he was sure was responsible. He even considered asking Kathryn what her last name was, because even that omission scratched at the back of his mind, an annoyance he wanted gone. But he knew from experience he was unlikely to receive any answers--at least any truthful ones, so he shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. "Kill the bad guy. Maybe. And just the one," he said, looking over at her pointedly.

Kathryn watched him carefully for a moment, then tossed back the last of her drink. Tim followed suit, chucking his paper cup into the garbage bin and standing up. He knew a dismissal when he saw one, and his lack of questioning had effectively ended their morning companionship.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said, walking over to the door and pulling it open. "Name-is-stay, or whatever."

She laughed. "Namaste, Deputy," and she locked the door behind him. He wondered idly if those were the last words he'd ever hear from her.

#

Tim arrived at his location even earlier than he had intended. He eventually wriggled into place just after 9:30, after killing time by wandering through the brush at the edge of the hill, under the guise of establishing a perimeter. While not an entirely unreasonable pursuit, he also knew it wasn't necessary. When he'd driven in, he could see the only tracks in the dirt were from Kathryn's car the day before, and he had even driven several miles further down to make sure he was alone. He'd turned around when he discovered a downed tree that would have made any vehicle traffic impossible.

As he settled into position, hat turned backward to keep his hair out of his face, belly down on a blanket with his eye pressed firmly up to the scope, he felt at home. While the anticipation before a mission always left him teetering on the edge of anxiousness, the waiting in position brought with it a sense of calm and ease. He was good at this; exceptional, even, and he knew that. He was calm, in control; things he often didn't feel in his daily life, even in the Marshal service. He remembered the first time he'd done this; the way the sand felt in his boots for two days after, and every tension in his body eased.

Kathryn had been right; Solkov and his men arrived just before noon. Tim watched them get out of their SUV; Solkov casually picking at his fingernails as Mednik and Popesku made a show of clearing the area. The librarian--Ibsen--stared furtively around, looking entirely out of place and uncomfortable. Tim couldn't be sure what weapons they might have in the car, but he could see that Mednik and Popesku each carried a 9MM, and it appeared that the other two were unarmed. Though, given Solkov's impressive girth, he supposed he could be hiding a firearm in a fold somewhere that he couldn't see.

Eye still pressed to the scope, Tim reached into his pocket with his right hand and pulled out his cell. He typed in the number Kathryn had given him with a simple "All good," and hit send. He didn't expect a response, and he never received one.

Kathryn was nothing if not prompt. Tim watched her car pull in at the opposite end of the field at exactly 12:59. When she got out of the car, he noticed she was wearing the dark jeans and Blue Oyster Cult t-shirt he had seen laid out on her bed, but she had also thrown her blazer over top. He was pleased to see she had foregone the matching heels and was wearing the boots he'd seen her in the day before.

Kathryn wandered easily over to the group, holding her arms up with her keys in her hands. Tim watched as Melnik patted her down, removing a cellphone from her back pocket, and taking her keys. He tossed them both to Ibsen, who fumbled and dropped the keys before scooping them back up out of the dirt. Tim was impressed by Kathryn's body language. She looked more relaxed than he'd seen her even in her motel room. Given the circumstances under which he had been directed here, he knew the slouch in her posture was a purposeful facade, but it was a good one.

Tim watched as Solkov greeted Kathryn with a shit eating smile on his face, all pomp and over-the-top joviality. And then in an instant, that changed. He shouted something Tim couldn't quite make out at this distance and he watched as Popescu punched Kathryn hard in the side. Melnik did the same before she had recovered from the first blow. He watched as she fell down on one knee, holding her ribs, and Popescu backhanded her across the right side of her face.

Tim let out a long, even breath. He rested his right index finger gently against the trigger, waiting for the moment he would pull.

Solkov walked closer to Kathryn, who Melnik was holding firmly down on her knees by one shoulder. Both he and Popescu had pulled their handguns and were looking at Solkov expectantly, waiting for orders. Tim felt more than saw Ibsen, cowering to the side, backing away from the group toward Kathryn's car. Solkov was talking fast, spitting as he did so. When he stopped, he seemed to be waiting for Kathryn to say something, and Tim was surprised to see that she was smiling defiantly up at him. She said something through her grin and Solkov nodded at Popescu, who raised his weapon--

Tim pulled. The sound of the shot rang out across the empty field and was still echoing into the trees surrounding him when he pulled again. And again.

It took only a moment for Popescu's entire body to twist from the force of the blow, blood and brain matter spattering across Melnik and Kathryn. Tim saw her head snap toward his position, her face surprised but otherwise unreadable. In the second that it took Melnik to register what was happening and aim his weapon, he was already dead. Solkov had turned to run toward his SUV when Tim's bullet pierced through the base of his skull from behind and he flailed to the ground, lifeless, covering the side of the SUV with red.

Tim swept his rifle in Ibsen's direction as Kathryn reached for Melnik's gun on the ground beside her. Ibsen yanked open the door to Kathryn's car and Tim would have caught him if Kathryn had not shot him in the leg first. Ibsen buckled, screaming, and was spared the killing shot meant for him. Tim saw Kathryn lying on the ground, the gun in her hands still aimed toward her car as Ibsen threw it in reverse and disappeared as quickly as he could down the access road at the opposite end of the field.

Through the scope, Tim watched Kathryn stand, fury clearly written across her face as she tucked Melnik's weapon into the back of her jeans and started running through the goldenrod toward him.

#

Tim was back at the car as quickly as he could pack up and carry his gear back. He had run through the underbrush on instinct, knowing he wanted to be prepared when Kathryn caught up to him. He understood their relationship had been irrevocably changed. In only a few moments, he had done precisely what she had instructed him not to. According to what she'd told him, this could mean that eight years of undercover work was now useless, and he doubted she had been exaggerating on that point. He knew there would be consequences, he just didn't know quite what they would be.

Tim closed the trunk of his car, watching the trees beyond for any sign of movement.

"Deputy Gutterson!"

He turned. Kathryn had managed to cross the road without him noticing. He realized she must have traveled at least a half mile out of her way to cross undetected further down the road, beyond a deep curve. She was breathing heavily, sweating in her blazer, and she was pointing that 9MM directly at his chest, though he noticed her finger was not yet on the trigger.

"You stupid son-of-a-bitch. You have any idea what you just did?"

"I'm pretty sure I saved you from a gruesome death in an abandoned construction site," he leaned against the car, folding his arms across his chest in a show of relaxation, but every muscle in his body was tensed and ready to react if he needed to. "So you're welcome."

"Give me your keys, Deputy."

"Oh, ma'am, I'd be happy to give you the keys, just as soon as I settle into the passenger seat." Tim straightened and walked around the back of the car.

"Like hell. You've done enough damage and I'll be damned if I let you fuck this up any further." Tim pulled the door open and Kathryn leaned forward, like an animal about to lunge at the bars of her cage, wild and desperate. "Deputy..."

"Not so easy to pull when you know it's wrong, huh?" he said, taking the keys out of his pocket. He leaned forward and held her gaze intently with his own. "It ain't so easy not pulling when you know you _should_ , either."

He watched her measured response. She took a deep breath, steadied herself. Even he had to admit she looked menacing with another man's blood in her hair and smeared across her face, but her finger still rested along the barrel of the gun in her hand. He'd had a gun pointed at him enough times to know when a person really meant to do him harm. Kathryn was clearly not interested in shooting him, which was the only reason he still spoke so candidly.

"Goddammit!" she yelled, and she lowered her weapon.

"I don't disagree," Tim said, and he tossed her the keys over the top of the vehicle, settling into the passenger seat.

Kathryn got in, resting the gun on the center console and yanking her blazer off in quick, violent movements. She wiped her face with the blazer and tossed in onto the backseat before staring the vehicle with equal ferocity.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"That weasel is going to try to get out of the country as quickly as he can. There's only one place he'll go." Tim watched as Kathryn threw his car across the road in a U-turn that threatened to roll them back into the ditch. He heard the rocks kick up into the undercarriage as she sped down the dirt road, and he couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, what exactly he had gotten himself into.


	5. The Librarian

Tim was mildly surprised Kathryn hadn't been pulled over for speeding yet, but he supposed his vehicle pretty much screamed LAW ENFORCEMENT, so maybe that was how she'd managed to ignore every speed limit sign they'd past in the nearly 2 hours they'd been hurtling across the state of Kentucky in silence. She clearly knew where she was going, and she clearly had no interest in including him in her travel plans. Tim wondered how long he should wait before he at least switched on the radio.

With all the time afforded to him, Tim replayed the day's events in his mind. He was sure he had done the right thing, even if it had gone against his orders. Then again, who was Kathryn to give him orders, anyway? He didn't work for her and she hadn't even had the decency to be forthcoming with him. If she was going to leave her background, last name, and operation shrouded in secrecy, he saw no reason why he should back down from the decisions he had made today. After all, she said she had chosen him because he always knew when to take the shot and when to stand down. Today, every shot he took he took because he knew it was the right thing to do. It wasn't his fault that her assessment of the situation was misguided; perhaps tainted by her years' long personal involvement in the case.

Tim had clear eyes and a tranquil conscience.

Kathryn threw on the blinker and pulled into a gas station, stopping at the pump closest to the door.

"Can you fill the tank? I need to grab a few things."

"If you think I'm letting you out of my sight, that slap must have been harder than I thought. You concussed?" Tim climbed out, shutting his door emphatically, and walked to the door of the shop. He opened it and stood aside, waiting for her. She glared, but slammed the driver's side door and walked inside.

Tim meandered slowly behind her, watching as she frantically grabbed a tube of Pringles, a half gallon of iced tea, and a box of chocolate covered doughnuts.

"It's like grocery shopping with a third grader," he remarked as she pressed past him toward the cashier.

"Yeah, well it's been a stressful day." Kathryn spread her purchases across the counter. "You sell phones?" she asked the cashier without looking up.

Tim watched as the old man behind the counter took in Kathryn's appearance and her brusque request. He would be lying if he said he didn't find it somewhat amusing. She still had some blood on her face, though it could likely be explained away to an untrained eye as coming from the cut on her cheek and swollen lip she'd sustained when Melnik smacked her. Her hair was a ragged mess, and she was yanking cash out of a thick money clip. Tim wondered if she'd lifted it from one of the men in the field after he'd started packing his gear.

Kathryn looked up from the money clip, impatient. "Excuse me? Sir? You sell phones or not?" The man blinked a few times, dragging himself away from the unusual sight before him. He grabbed a TracFone from behind him and rang up her purchases. "I'll also take $25 on two," she added, passing him a stack of bills.

Back at the car, Tim agreed to pump gas while she set up the new cellphone, but he left his door open so it would at least be more difficult for her to drive off without him. When he climbed back in the passenger seat, she was dialing a number.

It only rang twice before someone picked up on the other end, though he couldn't hear what they said. "Yes," was Kathryn's answer. A pause and then she looked at him, "No," she said, "I should have chosen the Marine." Another pause and then, "I know," and she hung up.

They were driving another 20 minutes or so before Tim finally spoke. "As thrilling as it's been to ride in this pissed off silence of yours, you mind if I turn on the radio?"

"Do whatever you like, Deputy. That seems to be a forte of yours."

Tim ignored the jab and switched the radio on, turning the dial until he found something suitably blues-y. He leaned back, suddenly very tired, and closed his eyes. He let the warm sound of Bill Monroe's voice wash over him as he drifted off to sleep.

#

It was dark outside when Tim was jerked awake by the ringing of a phone. He watched as Kathryn licked the remnants of a chocolate doughnut off her fingers and flipped open her new cell. Tim blinked furiously to clear the sleep from his eyes. "Yes," she said as she laid her head back on the seat, clearly frustrated. "Copy. Let me know when he moves this way." She snapped the phone closed and tossed it unceremoniously into the cup holder.

Tim couldn't help himself. "That your buddy Ralph? He ready to turn himself in?"

Kathryn rolled her eyes and thrust the half-eaten box of doughnuts at him. "Here," she said, "You must be as hungry as I was."

Tim took the box gratefully and decided to take a more serious approach. "Where is he?"

"It looks like he ditched my car. At least, we tracked him to a junkyard we know has been used for that purpose before. He made one outgoing call to his mother, and from his last known location, it looks as though he's heading her direction."

Tim shoved a doughnut into his mouth. "I'm assuming we're not at her house?"

"No," Kathryn said, "She's a vet, so he's probably hoping she can stitch up his leg, but she lives about 45 minutes from here. I'd bet dollars to doughnuts he'll stay there until tomorrow at least; he doesn't have the constitution to run all night. He hasn't made any other outgoing calls, though, so it looks like I was also right in assuming he's trying to leave the country rather than go back to the organization he's working with, unlike Melnik or Popescu would have." She looked at him pointedly, "Which is why I asked you to keep them alive."

Tim shrugged and took a bite of another doughnut. He was far more hungry than he'd realized. "So what's the move now?"

"Well, I don't know about you, Deputy, but I haven't slept in almost 27 hours, so I'd like to take a nap."

Kathryn started the car and Tim took in his surroundings. She had parked them on a narrow side street that dead-ended into a three-way intersection. At the end of the road was a squat, ugly house without any lights on. He assumed it was Ibsen's, as it was the only place clearly visible from where she'd parked. "Where are we headed?" he asked as he finished the last doughnut and dusted the crumbs off his shirt into the empty box.

"There was a motel a little ways back; maybe ten minutes or so. We'll bunk there for night and you can head back to Lexington in the morning."

"I think I'd rather wait for Ibsen," he said.

Kathryn snorted. "That wasn't a suggestion, Deputy Gutterson. Your services are no longer required or wanted."

Tim decided to drop that conversation for now, but he knew damn well he wasn't about to head back to his office and leave her to tie up loose ends on her own. Though he stood by every decision he'd made in the field, he also knew he'd royally screwed her case. Besides, he wanted to help bring Ibsen. It may have just been a point of personal pride for missing his shot earlier in the day, even if that was only because his partner had intentionally interfered.

Partner? Were they partners, now?

"And what about you?" he asked, deciding to leave the question of their professional relationship for another time.

"Ibsen won't leave without stopping at his house first; that much I'm sure of. I'll wait here until it's time to make a move."

It was only when they pulled into the motel parking lot that Tim realized they weren't even in Kentucky anymore. At some point while he'd been asleep, she had driven them across the Tennessee state line. The parking lot was jam packed and Tim could hear plenty of raucous tailgating, even though the clock on the console said it was past one in the morning.

Tim leaned against the passenger side door while Kathryn went into the office to secure them a room. They had both silently agreed that someone needed to stay with the vehicle, considering the firearms inside, and he had no trouble looking suitably intimidating to the drunken men hanging out in the parking lot across the way. He also had doubts about how menacing Kathryn could look without the help of blood smeared across her face. He remembered the threatening picture she had cut emerging from the woods earlier in the day, pointing that dead man's gun at his chest. For a moment, he thought about what might have happened if he had misjudged her character and she had decided to fire on him. He shivered.

"Let's go, Deputy," she said, waving a room key. She grabbed her jacket and the 9MM from the backseat while Tim gathered his go bag and the M1110 case from the trunk. Kathryn stepped up beside him, inspected the back of the car and reached inside to grab the opened bottle of bourbon he'd stashed. Tim smirked and closed the door.

#

"Apparently," Kathryn said as he followed her down a narrow hallway, "there's some fucking Nascar derby bullshit nearby tomorrow. The guy at the desk said they were all booked up, but had a cancellation right before we got here. So," she looked over her shoulder at him seriously, "we're sharing a room with two singles."

Kathryn let them in and Tim surveyed the room. "I didn't even know they still made twin sized beds," he said as the door closed behind him.

"I'm pretty sure they don't," said Kathryn, "Just a friendly reminder of how long this shithole has been here."

"You know, you swear a lot when you're tired."

Kathryn tossed her blazer over the back of a chair--it was stiff from the dried blood on it--and set the handgun down on the bedside table next to the far bed. Tim placed his duffel on the bed closest to the door and slid the rifle case under it. He watched as Kathryn grabbed one of the foam coffee cups on the desk and poured a rather tall glass of bourbon. She threw it back in three quick gulps and wiped her mouth with her hand.

"I'm gonna take a shower," she said, and disappeared into the bathroom. After a moment, he heard the shower turn on.

Tim surveyed the room, which looked a lot like the one he'd had at the last motel except it had two skinny beds instead of one big one. He wondered if his feet would dangle off the end of this one like the bed he'd had at basic. He kicked off his shoes and removed his belt and holster; took out his cellphone and looked at it thoughtfully. He'd left Lexington on Thursday and was supposed to be back by Monday, but he had a feeling that, despite Kathryn's insistence that he return to Lexington in the morning, he wouldn't be making it to work on schedule. He shot a quick text to Art, _Taking PTO Monday-Tuesday. Will file paperwork when I'm back. :)_

He knew the smiley face would irritate Art. It gave Tim a not unearned amount of satisfaction to know that other people would have to entertain and corral Raylan for a few days. As Tim listened to the shower from the adjacent room, he decided to change into his sleep shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts. Even after his nap in the car, he felt wiped from the day and didn't think a shower was in his future until after he'd gotten a bit more shuteye.

Once he'd changed, Tim laid down on top of the scratchy motel comforter with his copy of _The Hobbit_ and picked up on chapter nine where he'd left off. Bilbo had just slid on the ring and disappeared when the door to the bathroom opened and a pile of steam billowed out.

Tim looked up and had to stop himself from laughing. There stood Kathryn, hair still dripping and skin flushed from the heat of her shower. She was wearing the same Blue Oyster Cult t-shirt she'd had on all day, a pair of black underwear, and nothing else. "Little skimpy for our first sleepover, don't you think?" he asked as he noted his page and set his book on the table next to the bed.

Kathryn shot him a look that would have withered lesser men. "Well genius, all of my stuff was in my car. I'm not sleeping naked and I'm not sleeping in blue jeans, so this is all I've got."

This was the first time Tim had seen Kathryn in anything other than long pants and he was surprised to see that she had even more tattoos. These, however, were nothing like the poorly scrawled ones on her forearms. On her left thigh, she had a large and brightly colored piece with some sort of octopus or squid locked in an embrace with a rainbow colored creature he didn't recognize. Her right leg had a black and white pattern that wrapped down the side of her leg and terminated under her knee.

Kathryn fidgeted under his scrutiny and Tim could see how uncomfortable she was. He almost felt bad for teasing her. He sat up and grabbed his duffel from the floor. "Here," he said as he rummaged through. He found what he was looking for and tossed it to her. "I got it from a t-shirt canon at a Grizzlies game. It's about a 9XL, so you should just about be able to squeeze into it."

Kathryn caught the shirt and unrolled it, holding it up against her torso. It looked almost like a blanket.

"You didn't grab a toothbrush at that gas station, did you?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"I was distracted..."

Tim smirked and tossed her a travel bottle of mouthwash. She grabbed it out of the air and he watched as she struggled between being annoyed with him and being grateful for the items in her hands.

"Thanks," she said and disappeared back into the bathroom.

Tim had learned a long time ago that it never hurt to keep an oversized shirt in your go bag. You never knew when a fugitive would turn up shirtless, or you'd find a kid in a drug house that needed warm, dry clothes. Plus, in a pinch it could always serve as a towel or tourniquet, depending on your needs.

When Kathryn reemerged, she was wearing the Grizzlies shirt and it dragged almost down to her knees. "Thanks," she said again as she climbed into her bed, rolling onto her side away from him.

Tim grabbed his toiletry kit and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He noticed that she had hand-washed her t-shirt and jeans, and had hung them up to dry over the shower rail. As he brushed his teeth, he looked in the mirror and noticed that the black underwear she'd had on were also hanging, damp, in the corner. He was embarrassed at the jolt it sent through him when he realized she was wearing the shirt he'd given her and nothing else.

It had been too long since he'd gotten laid if the mere thought of a woman without underwear was enough to send his mind to dark and unwarranted places. How long had it been? At least six months, he figured, and that was if you counted the girl from Cuddy's bar that he'd only seen once. (Twice? He couldn't quite remember.) Tim spit and rinsed his mouth, vowing to find a girl to hook up with as soon as he was back in Lexington.

Tim left the bathroom ready to make a snarky comment about her using their shared toilet space as a laundry room, but when he opened the door and light spilled across her bed, he could see she was already asleep and he decided not to wake her. Tim turned off the light and made his way deftly across the room in the dark. He crawled into his own bed and closed his eyes, pushing the image of a half-naked Kathryn from his mind as he drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. My computer died four times in the middle of writing this chapter, so I'm posting it without a proofread tonight so I won't lose it again. Please forgive any typos; I promise to edit it in the morning.


	6. Thunder

It was fucking dark. Not just dark like when you turn off a light, but dark like you'd been submerged in a bucket of crude oil and tried to open your eyes. Tim could hear shots being fired nearby, but the crevice he and his spotter had been wedged into echoed confusingly and they couldn't tell which direction they were advancing from.

Tim maintained a cool facade, but his heart was jackhammering against his sternum. After he'd taken his shot a few hours ago, he'd watched chaos erupt through his scope; men pouring out of the house they'd been watching in search of the person responsible. The path they'd been directed to take to reconvene with the rest of their unit had been used almost immediately by fighters looking to even the score, and they'd been awaiting new evac orders ever since, to no avail.

"We've got to get out of here," he said. He looked over at his spotter, some new kid who looked like he was straight out of Fort Benning named Samuel Kirk. Everyone had called him Sammy, which just made Tim think of him as being even younger than he probably was. He wished, not for the first time today, that he hadn't been paired with some green PFC on his first tour after Ranger School. "Kirk? You hear me?" The kid looked up at him, eyes wide and scared. This was supposed to be an in-and-out mission; quick and to the point. Tim wondered whether the intel they'd been given was outdated, or if his superiors had really thought the men in that house were just going to roll over after he killed their leader in front of them.

"What do we do?" Kirk asked, and Tim didn't know how to answer. It occurred to him for the first time that this kid's life was truly in his hands and his hands alone, and he wasn't sure he was prepared for what that meant. Tim liked taking orders and he abhorred giving them. Still, he knew if they stayed where they were, it was only a matter of time before someone found them, and the chances of it being one of their own were a lot less likely than the alternative. After sitting thoughtfully for a few moments, listening to the shouts and shots echoing through the canyon beyond their hideout, he made his decision.

"Follow me," he said, and Tim carefully climbed out of their hiding spot, furtively checking his surroundings.

They stayed low to the ground, creeping below the ridge so their silhouettes couldn't be seen against the stars. Tim maneuvered them away from where he thought the fighting sounded worst, hoping to skirt around behind their unit and meet up with them that way. The terrain was difficult, sand and stones that slid out from under you as you ran. It was hopeless to make an attempt at silence as they advanced, so they chose speed instead.

It happened so quickly that Tim didn't even know what was going on until he heard Kirk's mangled yell and his body hit the ground behind him. When he turned, the man was already lunging for him, knife out and slick with Kirk's blood. Tim reacted faster than even he thought possible, pulled the trigger, and the man's body slumped against his, weighty and lifeless.

Tim rolled the body away from him, and let it flail down the hill, scattering the dirt as it went. He stayed still for a moment, listening, but he heard no one else. He realized their assailant probably hadn't even been a part of the fighting; likely just a scared civilian who saw two American military personnel and reacted out of fear. The thought made his whole body feel heavy and useless.

Tim crawled toward Kirk, and he pulled the younger man toward him. Kirk wasn't dead yet, but he would be soon and there was nothing Tim could do about it. There was blood or shit or piss everywhere, thought he couldn't tell which was what in the inky blackness. He could just feel the wet seeping through his uniform as he held Kirk in his lap and watched him struggle against the knowledge that he was dying.

If only they had stayed in their hiding spot. If only Kirk had been better prepared for the field. If only Tim hadn't tried to be a leader when he knew damn well he wasn't one.

The gunfire sounded like it was everywhere; filling his ears. Kirk was saying something, but Tim couldn't make out the words.

... _Deputy Gutterson. Marshal. Deputy Gutterson... Tim. Tim, wake up._

#

Tim's eyes shot open and he felt the heavy pressure of two hands on his shoulders. He flailed against them, feeling pinned down and helpless, fighting some unseen enemy that had gotten the drop on him.

"Tim. You are in a motel room in Tennessee. You're safe."

Tim swiveled his head around wildly until his eyes focused on Kathryn's face, mere inches from his own.

"What?" he asked, relaxing slightly, his muscles still coiled to attack in case this was some kind of trick.

"You're okay, Deputy. Just having a nightmare." Kathryn responded.

Tim laid his head back against the pillow, trying to remember, but all he could recall was the scent of blood and sweat. The sand scratchy in his uniform and his hands covered in something sticky and wet.

Kathryn removed her hands from his shoulders and stood up. Tim sat himself up fully, pressing his back into the headboard of the tiny bed and closing his eyes in an effort to consciously force his muscles to relax.

"Here," said Kathryn, and she handed him a cup with some of his bourbon in it. She perched herself on the edge of the bed, her own cup in hand, watching him carefully.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed and angry with himself.

"Don't worry about it; I know more people with PTSD than without," she said, and took a sip of the bourbon.

"Did you serve?" he asked, though he already knew the answer, as he slung the liquor back as quickly as he could. He always enjoyed the burn as it slid down his throat and settled in his stomach.

"No," she replied, simply and definitively, as she refilled his cup from the bottle she'd placed on the nightstand. "You good?"

"Yeah," he said, taking another grateful sip.

"That happen often after you do a sniper job?"

"Sometimes, but I don't really want to talk about it."

"Fair enough," she said, and they slipped into an amicable silence. Tim looked over at the old digital clock between their beds; it was almost 4 in the morning. He wondered what he'd done to wake her, whether he had said anything aloud or shouted like he sometimes knew he did. He hoped that wasn't the case and that his movements had been what caught her attention. He was drenched in cold sweat, his t-shirt sticking to him uncomfortably. The cheap motel sheets were nearly soaked through, and he could feel his heart rate still descending from the crescendo it had reached.

Tim distracted himself from his thoughts and his fears by quietly observing Kathryn. She was sitting on the side of his bed that faced into the room, so he had a clear view of the tattoo on her left thigh. It was colorful and extremely detailed, so he traced the lines and swirls of it with his eyes to ground himself and slow his breathing.

"It's a blue ringed octopus and a mantis shrimp," she said. He looked up at her and saw that she was smiling softly. He thought, unprofessionally, that it made her look quite pretty in the dim light. "Both very deadly in their own way." Kathryn pointed to the octopus, "These little guys only get to be about 8 inches big, but they can kill an adult in a few minutes, and there's no anti-venom that can treat their bite," she traced her finger over to the colorful shrimp, which, if Tim was being honest, looked more like a weird alien centipede than something he'd eat with cocktail sauce, "and these guys only get to be about 7 inches long at best, but they use this giant claw to smash their prey," she thunked her fist down heavily on her own thigh for emphasis. "It's so powerful that even if they miss with the claw itself, the shock-wave it causes can still sometimes kill their prey. The velocity they wield it with is about as fast as a .22."

Tim appreciated the distraction and he mulled over what she'd said, wondering if he'd ever venture into the ocean again now that he knew a miniature poisonous octopus could kill him almost instantly, or that a shrimp with tiny guns for appendages existed. By the time he realized he was smiling, imagining a shrimp wielding a pair of pistols, Kathryn had finished her drink and stood up.

"Get some sleep, Deputy. You've got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow." Tim watched over the rim of his cup as Kathryn climbed into her own bed and pulled the blankets up under her chin. He took another sip of his bourbon and tried to close his eyes, but every time he did, all he could see was Kirk getting paler and paler in his lap, so instead he tossed back the rest of his beverage and decided to shower.

The warm water felt good as it cascaded over his exhausted muscles. He felt the tension ease out of his face and back as he leaned against the tile and breathed in the steam. He hoped Kathryn wouldn't be too upset that he'd had to move her clothes so they wouldn't get wet.

Tim waited as long as he could, until the hot water had finally turned ice cold, before he turned the shower off. He threw on a clean t-shirt and the same pair of shorts he'd been wearing, and walked back to his bed without turning the lights on, so as not to disturb his roommate.

The sheets were still damp, but with a fresh shirt, it was bearable, and he kicked the comforter off the bed, opting to use only the thin polyester sheet for cover. Tim stared up at the ceiling, letting his mind wander through the dark swirls of old cigarette stains on the once-white tiles. He slowed his breathing, afraid that when he closed his eyes he'd be back where he started; holding a dying man's head in his lap.

But instead, when he settled into the mattress and finally let his eyelids drift closed, all he saw was the ocean.

#

The next time Tim opened his eyes, the sun was bright and shining through the partially opened curtains. Kathryn's bed was empty, and so was the rest of the room. He rubbed his hands roughly over his face and looked at the clock; it was already 7:30, the latest he'd slept in quite a while.

Tim pulled on his clothes and decided to check on his vehicle. The keys weren't sitting with his wallet where they'd been the night before, and he wasn't sure he'd put it past Kathryn to take his car without notice if she'd gotten a call about Ibsen's whereabouts. But when he made it out to the parking lot, he was met with a very different situation.

He hadn't realized it would be possible for the other inhabitants of the motel to be more raucous than when they'd arrived the night before, but he could hear competing music and shouting from all directions. Apparently, this was the place to be for tailgating before whatever Nascar event was happening nearby. When he made it down to his car, Tim spotted Kathryn across the lot standing with a small group of men, holding a beer. They were clustered around the open bed of a pickup truck, with a griddle cooking bacon and classic rock pouring out of speakers run from the inside of the cab. Kathryn was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, now dry and relatively clean.

Tim wasn't sure if he should approach, but he decided the sight was too good to pass up and he walked over to the group. The four men watched him unhappily as he tapped Kathryn on the shoulder. She turned and he was met with the brightest smile he'd ever seen. "Hey!" she said with a twangy Texan accent he'd never heard her use, and turned back to her newfound friends, "Guys, this is my brother Tom. Y'all mind if he joins us?"

Tim watched as the men relaxed. He assumed they were glad she had identified him as her brother, though he was less enthused about the designation, if he was honest. He guessed the men were each in their 50s, and likely all hoped they'd have a chance to nail a woman nearly half their age if they played their cards right. He ran his eyes over each of them again and realized they were all standing as tall as they could, sucking in their beer bellies just a bit. He disguised his forthcoming laugh with a cough.

One of the men opened a beer and handed it to Tim. "Thanks, man," he said. "What're you up to, sis?" He hoped the emphasis would convey his displeasure to Kathryn, but she continued on without hesitation.

"I was just telling the guys here how excited we are to hit the speedway later. Should be a great day for racing." She wasn't wrong; the weather was noticeably warmer than the day before when he'd wandered through the woods, though he couldn't quite tell whether she was joking, so he opted to take a sip of his beer. At just about 8 in the morning, it was a bit early, even for him, but after the night he'd had, he wasn't going to complain.

One of the men, Kenny, flipped the bacon and asked Tim if he'd like breakfast, too. Tim nodded and gratefully took the bacon and egg sandwich he was handed moments later, resting his drink at his feet as he tore into the much-needed food.

Suddenly, a frantic guitar riff began through the speakers and everyone put their sandwiches down in some choreographed dance that Tim wasn't part of. Kenny turned up the volume. "Everybody got a beer?" he asked and the rest of the group nodded. "I'll start."

Tim looked around, confused, until he made eye contact with Kathryn. "Every time you hear the word 'thunder,' the next person in the circle starts drinking and goes until you hear it again." She clapped him on the shoulder and flashed him a wink. "It's easy, you'll figure it out."

Just then, Tim heard a sharp "Thunder!" crackle through the speakers and Kenny started drinking. A moment later, the friend to his left did the same. Tim choked down the rest of his sandwich and picked up his beer just in time to participate himself.

#

After they'd finished their breakfasts and chugged two beers to the sounds of AC/DC, it took Kathryn a few minutes to finagle an exit from their parking lot crew. She eventually managed to convince them by revealing that it was _Tom_ 's first time at Bristol and she wanted to get there early so he could get the full experience. Tim waited by the car as he watched all four men ensure that 'Kathy' had their cell numbers, in case she needed anything or wanted to meet up later, mostly so he wouldn't have to fake an asthma attack to keep from laughing.

While Kathryn had strongly hinted that she wanted to go back to the room first, Tim thought the most expedient and believable exit for them would require they get immediately in the car. When she was finished extricating herself from the group, he hopped in the driver's seat so she would have to follow, and he watched with abundant amusement when she waved enthusiastically to her new friends as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Well, that was quite an interesting morning," he said.

Kathryn turned to him, all the Southern charm she'd doused herself in like syrup suddenly gone. "I could smell the bacon from the room, so I figured I'd wrangle us some breakfast. Sue me."

"What happened to your 'I only drink Scotch and gin?' Did you forget to put piss-lite beer on that list?"

She shrugged, "I'm not gonna turn down a free beer from a group of guys I'm trying to scam out of food." Tim smiled.

"That still doesn't explain my bourbon."

Kathryn ignored him, put one foot up on the dash, and rolled her window down, dangling her arm out of it. "They'll be gone in a half hour or so. We can head back then, and you can grab what you need before you get on the road to Lexington."

"Actually, I've taken a few vacation days and thought I'd spend them in the great state of Tennessee. Maybe I'll even check out that race." He couldn't help the grin that spread over his face when Kathryn's head whipped around to look at him.

"Like hell, Deputy. You are dismissed, or don't you remember what that means?"

"Well, there really isn't much you can do about where I spend my vacation, is there? Now, you gonna give me directions back to Ibsen's house, or do I need to remember the way there on my own?"


	7. Watching the Detectives

Tim had tried to keep his smirk hidden for as long as possible, but it finally broke free as he pulled up to the curb down the street from Ibsen's house. Kathryn had let him have it for the entire ride, so he was glad it was a quick trip. And while he would never say so aloud because he was sure she could be formidable--even deadly--when properly provoked, he thought her animated shouting made her look like a cartoon character, which he found endearing. He was glad his request for directions had been merely perfunctory, because he didn't think she'd stopped disparaging him for long enough to have pointed him the right way if their lives had depended on it.

"Listen, Deputy," she finally said, "While I appreciate your enthusiasm, and you are obviously quite capable in your own law enforcement capacity, I am of the opinion that you would be more of a liability than a help to this case." She turned to look at him, making steady eye contact and reigning her facial expressions in to level him with a far more serious look, "There are things about Ibsen... about all of this that you don't know, and you do not want to be a part of."

Tim's smirk faded and he turned off the car. "Be that as it may, I've already taken the PTO days. I left my badge at the motel and this here," he tapped his holster, "is my personal firearm, not my Marshal issue. That means I'm here as a private citizen on my vacation. You can come or not, up to you."

Tim hopped out of the car and tucked the keys in his pocket before walking down the sidewalk toward Ibsen's ugly brown house. The daylight did nothing to improve its curb appeal; it was clear that Ibsen did not have a knack for landscaping. The minuscule front yard was overrun with weeds, and the paint job had last been touched up in 1982. Tim approached the house casually, hands in his pockets, as if he were appraising its value before making an offer. He found that as long as you looked innocent enough, neighbors weren't very likely to be concerned, and given the high fences maintained by both of Ibsen's neighbors, Tim figured he was being overly cautious in that regard, anyway. Though he trusted Kathryn's information that Ibsen was not currently home, he peered cautiously through windows to assess the interior. He saw nothing.

Kathryn came up behind him just as he rounded the corner of the house and walked onto a small enclosed porch. Tim tugged on the backdoor, but it was locked. "Do you often spend your vacations breaking and entering? Seems like a strange hobby for a Marshal to pursue, even in his free time."

Tim looked around the porch and started picking up knick-knacks from a nearby shelf to check for a spare key. He ran his hands over the door frame and knocked a key off the top. He grinned over at Kathryn, standing at the bottom of the porch stairs with her arms crossed defiantly. "The name's Tim, ma'am. And I didn't break anything."

#

The inside of Ibsen's house was as drab as the exterior, though instead of weeds, there were dust bunnies. Truthfully, if someone had told Tim the house was an abandoned property, he would have believed them. He made his way carefully through the house, clearing corners out of habit with his right hand resting lightly on his holster just in case. Each room was just as empty as he'd guessed from the outside, and he relaxed minutely when he reached the front entrance without incident.

Tim heard the back door close and called to Kathryn over his shoulder, "You sure your buddy Ralph lives here?"

"He's been occupied by business in Kentucky, so I'm not surprised he hasn't been here in a while. But this is his house, yes."

Tim cast a glance at Kathryn who moved through the house toward him as if every object and surface in it were poisonous. "What makes you think he'll come back here?"

"There are things he is unwilling to part with, no matter where he plans on running. Trust me, he'll be back."

Tim walked through each of the rooms again, this time observing the smaller details; pictures of Ibsen the school librarian with different classes over the years, and an extensive collection of porcelain dolls that Tim found downright terrifying. He found every item his eyes found more depressing than the last. He thought absently that even his sparsely furnished apartment was superior to this dank excuse of a living space. There was dark wood paneling on almost every wall and a thick orange shag carpet in the living room. Even the bathroom was carpeted, and Tim wrinkled his nose at the thought of a squishy, wet floor on his bare feet after a shower.

"What are you doing here, Deputy?" Tim turned and saw Kathryn standing just outside the bathroom door, looking highly irritated. "If you're going to insist on a vacation, you should at least check out the speedway."

"Who do you work for?" Tim asked. He hoped that he might take her by surprise and catch her off guard, though he knew that was unlikely.

"Would it surprise you if I said that information was classified?"

Tim shook his head, "You aren't military, though, so that leaves only a few exemplary federal agencies." Tim leaned against the sink, mimicking Kathryn's folded arms. Kathryn gazed calmly back at him, not budging, and he wondered how long they could stay locked in a stalemate stare before one of them blinked.

And then her phone rang.

Kathryn answered with the kind of quickness Tim usually reserved for pulling his weapon on an armed suspect. "Yes," she said. And then after a moment, a curt nod and, "Yes, thanks." And she hung up.

"Should I gather the welcome committee? Ralphie boy coming home?"

She looked at him and he knew he was right about the content of the call, but it was also clear she was in no mood for teasing. "Deputy Gutterson, I need you to understand that if you stay now, I--and the people I work with--cannot and will not take responsibility for what may happen to you. You were brought in as a sniper, you failed to complete your mission as instructed, and as such, you have compromised everything I've worked for over the past 8 years. I have the slimmest of chances to salvage this mess, and I will do whatever it takes. And what it takes may not be, strictly speaking, above board."

Tim stood up, intrigued by her change in tone. Her return to a brusque and businesslike demeanor was disheartening. He realized that some part of him had been hoping the banter they'd developed was an indication of a burgeoning partnership. But here, she was making it clear that she was running an operation and he was merely collateral. But that was fine, he could certainly play the role of dedicated subordinate.

"Whatever you need, and I can provide, I'm happy to help."

Kathryn hesitated a moment before walking to the living room and pulling all of the curtains closed. "Cover the windows," she said, "Ibsen will be here within the hour." Tim pulled down the blinds in the bedroom and kitchen, then returned the key to its original hiding place on the porch and locked the door from the inside. When he walked back inside, he found Kathryn rooting through Ibsen's kitchen drawers and he watched as she pulled out some duct tape, a lighter, and an old ethernet cable. "Grab one of the dining chairs," she said without looking up, "and meet me in the basement."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note I have added some additional tags/warnings for topics that may be discussed in future chapters.


	8. An Interrogation

Tim was impressed with Kathryn's acute efficiency. As they'd prepared for Ibsen's arrival, she had spoken to him only in short, clipped sentences. Suddenly, the one-word phone conversations made more sense. This was Kathryn the Professional; calm, collected, and with zero tolerance for bullshit or distractions. He'd made a few attempts at sarcastic banter, but she'd brushed him off easily, and a few times she had been so absorbed in her work she hadn't even heard him.

The house was dark on the inside; they'd done a good job of covering the windows with blankets and tape, and she had positioned herself near the front door, behind a coat rack, and instructed him to wait toward the rear of the house, out of sight. The door to the basement was propped open, so she'd have a clear path.

When Ibsen walked in, there was a brief burst of sunlight through the open door. The kitchen was so dark, Tim had almost forgotten it was barely afternoon. Kathryn waited, patiently, for Ibsen to close the door and lock it behind him before she maneuvered smoothly and wrapped the garbage bag in her hands around her face. Though Tim had known what she was planning to do, it was still jarring to watch the man in her arms flail, and he fought the base human instinct he felt to intervene. Ibsen threw an elbow back into Kathryn's side and she winced. Tim realized for the first time he had never asked about her injuries following the firm blows she'd received during her brief meeting with Solkov and his associates, and he wondered how much damage she had sustained. Whatever it was; she'd hid it well until now.

"Listen to me, Ralph, if you don't cooperate, I'm going to let you die right here wrapped in this plastic, you understand? Now let's go."

Ibsen was a small man, but still larger than Kathryn, and Tim watched her wrangle him with a strength he hadn't perceived her to have. Was he supposed to believe that her morning yoga sessions made her that strong? She wrapped her arms under Ibsen's and clasped her hands firmly behind his head in a full nelson hold. She kicked his legs out from under him and balanced his weight against her chest as she dragged him back toward the basement stairwell. Ibsen kicked his legs in a lame attempt to slow her progress, but Tim watched as first Kathryn and then Ibsen disappeared down the stairs. He waited a moment and then followed at a safe distance, pulling the door closed behind him.

In the basement, Kathryn wrangled Ibsen into the chair he'd brought down earlier, the bag still placed loosely over his face, which made Tim uncomfortable. Kathryn took a step back, breathing heavily and gingerly holding her right side. She took a moment to catch her breath, then set about taping Ibsen's legs to the those of the chair. He yelled when she moved the leg he'd been shot in. Then, she secured his arms behind him with the ethernet cable she'd found. Tim stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching and waiting as he'd been instructed to. She had made it clear that he was only there as a fail-safe, a security guard in case Ibsen freed himself. The sight before him made him uneasy, recalling stories from other vets he knew; ops shrouded in darkness they only talked about when there were too many empty drinks on the table.

He wondered briefly if he was more likely there to ensure she didn't kill the man than vice versa.

When Kathryn removed the plastic from her captive's face, he gasped desperately for air.

"Are you crazy? I could have died!" he exclaimed, spitting wildly in Kathryn's face. She didn't flinch.

"I hardly think that would be a bad thing, if we're being honest here, Ralph," she bent over, her face inches away from his, and smiled. "You're running, and you know you don't have much time before they catch up with you, right?"

The vitriol that rolled off Kathryn's tongue with each word spoken filled the whole room and Tim looked at Ibsen, trying to figure out what about him so disgusted her. He remembered the men he'd killed in the field, all of whom seemed far worse on paper than the boyish librarian. Still, he thought he knew Kathryn well enough to trust that her disgust wouldn't be misplaced, and he shivered at the thought of what Ibsen could have done to warrant such visceral disdain.

"They think I'm dead! I just... I'm just trying to get out of here."

"That's a luxury you don't have, friend." Ibsen scoffed at the word and Kathryn smiled. "There, at least now we understand each other."

Kathryn walked over to the washing machine and picked up a small navy blue box. Tim didn't know where it had come from; assumed she must have found it while searching the house for tools prior to Ibsen's homecoming. But he watched Ibsen's face contort as she placed it on the floor before him and took out the lighter he'd seen her with earlier.

"I knew you'd come back, Ralph. For this. Just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

Ibsen swallowed hard and Tim watched, fascinated, as he broke out in a sweat that left his face glistening in the dim light of the basement. His eyes remained fixed on the box before him, unblinking.

Kathryn flicked on the lighter. "Now, you're going to tell me what I need to know or I'm going to burn this box. Maybe even this house." She paused a moment, "Maybe even you."

Ibsen's gaze finally tore away from the box and he looked up at Kathryn, fearful.

"I know there's a shipment scheduled this week, and I assume it was moved once my cover was blown. Where is it going? And when?"

Tim shifted his weight, interested in this new development. A shipment of what, he wondered? Ibsen's head swiveled over to him when he moved, and he seemed to notice Tim's presence for the first time.

"You've got to help me, man, please. She's crazy." Tim smiled, his upper lip curling into a cruel sneer.

"Wrong tree, buddy, I'm on her side."

"Where?" Kathryn asked again, flicking on the lighter and crouching down before Ibsen, holding it close to the box. "When?"

"Stop!" Ibsen shouted, leaning forward against his restraints. "Please..." Tim noted the pathetic strain in his voice and he realized he didn't want to know what the blue box contained. He felt a nauseating bile rise in the back of his throat, an instinctive reaction that told him more than he wanted to know about the weaselly librarian. The boyish face, all the photos with his students, and Tim thought he may have finally figured out why Kathryn despised him so much.

"Tell me," Kathryn said, firmly, and ran the flame along the top of the box, singeing the edges.

"They're making the drop at some truck stop in Kentucky," he said, but Kathryn didn't pull the lighter back and he fidgeted. "Uh... I can't remember the name! It's off 75 in Laurel County... o-on Tuesday, I think! Please, stop!"

Kathryn pulled the lighter away and let the flame die. "The 49-er Truck Stop?"

Ibsen nodded furtively, "Yes, that's it! On Tuesday... Tuesday night!"

"They've used that spot before," she said. Kathryn stood up and Tim watched as she mulled over the information, biting down hard on one thumb as she studied the furnace. He turned to look at Ibsen, who was still fidgeting, desperate to free himself. The scene made Tim feel fidgety himself, like worms were crawling around in his organs, trying furiously to get out.

Suddenly, Kathryn reeled around on Ibsen, gun in hand. Ibsen screamed, "Whoa! I told you what you wanted to know! What are you--"

"Listen, Ralph, and listen carefully. Me and my friend are going to leave. I'm going to drive back to Kentucky and intercept that shipment at the 49-er truck stop. Now, I'm also going to leave you here, tied to this chair. If you've told me the truth, and I get what I'm looking for, I'll call my boss, and they'll send some nice federal agents here to untie you after you've had a few days to stew in your own piss and shit." Kathryn knelt down and pressed her gun to Ibsen's crotch. The man whimpered. "But if I go to that truck stop and that shipment doesn't come through, I'm going to turn around and drive back here. Alone. And I'm not going to untie you, Ralph. I'm going to blow your prick off and watch you bleed to death in your shitty fucking basement."

Kathryn stood up and tucked the gun away in her waistband. Tim thought he should get her a proper holster to replace the one she'd lost when Ibsen stole her car. If he were still seeing that shrink, he would have pointed out this was a dissociative thought designed by his brain to remove him from his current situation and allow him to focus on something familiar and calming.

He was glad he wasn't seeing the shrink anymore.

Kathryn stood over Ibsen, arms at her sides, and the little man in the chair sneered at her. "I recognize those marks on your arms, you know," he said, and Tim's attention was peaked once more.

"I'm sure you do, Ralph. But that wasn't my question. Do you wanna die here, or do you want to tell me the fucking truth?"

"You fucking stupid bitch. You wanna die? Be my guest. That shipment is coming in a truck that's going to be abandoned on some back fucking road in the Daniel Boone National Forest."

"Where?" she said.

Ibsen let out a bark of laughter, loud and clear. "You think they fucking told me? I don't know anything; that's why they haven't come for me." And then, more sheepishly, "Yet."

Kathryn rubbed her hands over her face. "Okay," she said. Tim watched as she grabbed the duct tape and wrapped it around Ibsen's face, covering his mouth, ignoring his protests. Ibsen thrashed in the chair, knocking it over, and his limp body thudded pathetically against the concrete floor.

"I don't care if you spend the next few days lying down, Chief. Enjoy the view," and she brushed passed Tim on her way up the stairs. He hesitated a moment, watched the man on the floor pleading with his eyes for help. He looked at the box Kathryn had used to upset Ibsen. He was curious about its contents, but also knew that unknown boxes were often better left unopened. It was easier to imagine the worst than to know it for certain.

Tim walked over to the box, Ibsen watching his every move intently, and nudged it with his foot out of the man's reach. Then he turned and followed Kathryn upstairs. She was already waiting for him on the front porch and when he appeared behind her, she pulled the door closed and walked back to the car without saying a word.

#

In the car, Kathryn let him drive without protest, and she pulled out her phone. Again, a single ring and there was someone on the other end of the line. "He says Daniel Boone Forest, but he doesn't know where. I can't cover that much ground." A pause and she sent him a surreptitious glance. "No," she said. "He's in the basement; you'll find enough in the house to book him," and she hung up.

Tim didn't ask any questions, just drove them back to their motel quickly and quietly. The parking lot was nearly empty, if you ignored the hundreds of empty beer cans and broken bottles, so finding a spot near their room was simple enough.

Kathryn didn't wait for him to exit the vehicle and she was already in the bathroom by the time he reached the door, which she had graciously left ajar for him.

Tim closed the door and locked it before striding across the room to the open bathroom door. When he looked inside, Kathryn tugged her t-shirt back down quickly, but that didn't stop him from seeing the dark splash of purple and grey across the right side of her torso. He wondered how she'd managed to hide the injury from him in the days they'd spent together.

"Jesus," he said, "that looks about 15 shades of horrifying."

Kathryn leaned against the sink, making eye contact with him in the mirror. "It could be worse," she said.

"Yeah, you could be dead. So you're welcome." He added a little bow to the end of his sentence, hoping to get a rise out of her.

It worked. He watched Kathryn's muscle coil in response as if she were a provoked snake. She was wound so tightly after the confrontation with Ibsen that he was surprised she hadn't snapped even sooner.

Kathryn squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "What do you want from me, Deputy? A medal? You not get enough of those in the Rangers?" She turned around to face him. "Here," she pulled a chapstick tube out of her pocket, "Here's a raspberry flavored star for not following fucking orders." She threw it at him and he caught it against his chest.

"Thank you, ma'am. I will cherish this. Maybe even put it in a shadow box next to my purple heart." Tim stuffed the chapstick into his pocket with a wry grin.

Kathryn looked like a caged animal in the bathroom, backed up against the vanity, face flushed with frustration and breathing like she'd just run a half-marathon. Her jaw was set tightly. He thought she might even be grinding her teeth. "You're here as a civilian, right? We agree on that? Our professional relationship no longer exists."

Tim quirked his head to the side, curious where she was going with this. "Sure. Just a regular guy on vacation in scenic Bristol, TN. Not here in any official capacity whatsoever."

"Honestly, it would be best if you weren't here at all."

"Maybe I'm just a very solid-looking ghost," he postulated, still unsure of her meaning.

Kathryn nodded her head and then in two quick steps she was on him, grabbing the front of his shirt to pull him toward her and pressing a violent, desperate kiss across his mouth. Tim was more surprised than he'd ever been, though pleasantly so. This felt fucking good, having her pressed against him, and he returned her kiss with an equally forceful one of his own. She pushed him toward her bed, raking her fingers down his sides and yanking up the hem of his shirt to find the taught skin underneath. Her mouth moved away from his and landed firmly on his neck.

Tim used the opportunity to say, "This is a better commendation than the chapstick."

Kathryn pulled away from him and he didn't like it. "It's been a stressful few days, Deputy, so if you'll indulge me..." And with that, she pulled him down to her bed with her. Everything was frantic and forceful, animal needs being satisfied as quickly as possible. Kathryn yelped softly as he pulled her shirt over her head, aggravating the bruises on her ribs, but it didn't slow either of them down. They both knew what they were doing, just as they were both interested purely in the intended outcome; the dance they did to get there didn't matter.

And then suddenly, Tim became painfully aware that he hadn't had sex in six months, and that he couldn't last as long as he would have liked. He pulled out quickly and grabbed for the closest scrap of cloth he could find when he came.

He looked down at Kathryn, still pinned beneath them and let out an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry," he said, "it's been a while."

Kathryn let her head sink back into the pillow and she chuckled quietly in reply. "No worries, Deputy, you'll just have to owe me later." She rolled off the bed and headed back into the bathroom. Tim sat on the bed and examined the thing in his hands, hoping maybe he'd gotten lucky and grabbed a stray motel towel, but he found instead Kathryn's only t-shirt, now covered in a sticky substance he didn't think she could easily hand wash out in the shower.

"Shit."

"What?"

"Uh... I think maybe we're gonna have to get you a new shirt."

Kathryn walked out of the bathroom, still wearing the bra he'd neglected to remove, and found her underwear before tugging them on. He appreciated her lack of modesty, and the confidence it indicated suited her. "Give me a minute and we can head out."

Tim dropped the shirt to the ground and fumbled for his own clothes, hoping he'd have the chance to make things up to Kathryn soon.


	9. IOU

There was a Walmart not far from their motel, and that's where Kathryn directed him. She took a brief call in the car, but all Tim heard her say was "Yes, ma'am" before she hung up. "We'll need to make another stop," she added to him, "But it can wait until after." He watched from the corner of his eye as she took out the money clip she'd been using and counted out several bills, separating them into two stacks before putting them back in her pocket.

"I meant to ask, did you lift that from one of Solkov's men?"

Kathryn smirked, "I figured they owed me a couple bucks for my time, at least."

Tim remembered how much he hated Walmart and other big stores like it the moment they walked in, though it was certainly a convenient place to pick up a new shirt, as well as whatever else they might need. He had to admit, however, he thought Kathryn looked charming wearing the Grizzlies shirt he'd given her. She'd tucked it into her jeans in an attempt to make it look more like an intentional fashion choice than an article of desperation, but that only served to give it the appearance of a deflated balloon draped around her. The way it swallowed her up made her look younger and smaller than she was--at least, he assumed it made her look younger, and if he hadn't watched her half-torture a man earlier in the day, he would have thought she was a naive and innocent college student.

"Can you handle grabbing some food?" she asked, looking at him. "I'll get some clothes and meet you near the checkout."

"Yes ma'am," he said, and she took off in the opposite direction. He wouldn't have let her out of his sight except that he had the car keys in his pocket, so he knew she couldn't leave him behind easily.

As Tim perused the frozen food section, he realized he had no idea what Kathryn would want to eat. So he grabbed a half dozen frozen dinners, and some frozen breakfast burritos to cover his bases. As he was making his way toward the checkout, he noticed a gallon of the same iced tea she'd purchased the day before at the gas station, so he grabbed that as well.

He had assumed Kathryn would take a while finding clothes, so he was surprised to see her already waiting for him when he arrived with his basket of groceries. He looked at what she had in her arms; a package of men's black undershirts, a package of Hanes briefs, disinfectant spray, and a small stack of CDs. He raised an eyebrow as she grabbed a map from the end of the checkout lane to add to her armload, but she wasn't looking at him.

"Interesting outfit you got there," he said.

"I'd prefer something a little more fashionable, but I'm on a tight budget."

"I meant the CDs," he said. "You DJing somewhere?"

Kathryn shrugged, "I'm going to be up late working and I think better with music. When Ibsen ditched my car, he also ditched any I'd brought with me." When it was their turn, Tim tossed the food onto the conveyor belt and grabbed his wallet. Kathryn put her hand on his arm to stop him. "No thanks, Deputy. I've got this," and she paid with the cash still in the money clip, though it looked to him like it took nearly everything left in it.

The old woman behind the register handed him their receipt. "A true gentleman would never let his lady pay," she said and Tim furrowed his brow, wondering how to best defend himself when he heard Kathryn laughing heartily as she grabbed their bags and he smiled instead.

It turned out that Kathryn had two additional stops to make, one at the liquor store and one at a pharmacy with a FedEx Office inside. She emerged from the liquor store with a 16-year-old Scotch and from the pharmacy with an envelope filled with a thick stack of paper. He assumed the latter had to do with her plans to stay up late, and he wondered whether he would be included.

As they unloaded the car, Tim's head swiveled back and forth, scanning the darkening parking lot for threats out of habit and paranoia. After the day's events, he realized part of him was waiting to be taken in for questioning by local PD regarding the suspicious circumstances surrounding Ralph Ibsen's basement predicament. But even his highly trained eye could find nothing amiss.

Tim took the bags out of Kathryn's hands as she struggled to open the door with her key. "Thanks," she said without looking at him.

"You know," he said as the door closed behind him, "I could have spotted you the money you needed for better clothes."

Kathryn turned to face him. "While I appreciate the thought, Deputy, I don't really like being indebted to others."

Tim dropped the bags in his hands . "Neither do I," he said. Kathryn turned and looked up at him, but he wasn't sure she understood his meaning, so he pulled her toward him and kissed her again. He felt her smile against his lips.

"Deputy Gutterson, you don't--"

"Oh, I do, ma'am. It's a matter of... professional pride. You understand."

He kissed her again and when she reached down to undo his belt, he took her hands in his and pulled them down at her sides. "No," he said, "not yet." He guided her back toward his bed and laid her down, kissing her neck and tugging the ridiculously oversized shirt out of the waistband of her jeans. After he'd removed it, he took time to explore her body more thoroughly than he'd been able to previously, working his way from her neck to her chest, and then laying light kisses along the bruises she'd sustained. He could hear her breathing more heavily, which he took as an encouraging sign, so he kissed her stomach, and then her hips. He looked up and saw with some amount of satisfaction that she was biting her lower lip, eyes closed. He also noticed another tattoo peaking out from beneath her bra, tucked under her breasts, and he made a mental note to get a better look at it once he'd completed his current mission.

When she realized where he was going, she lifted her head from the pillow, "You want to?" she asked.

Tim looked up at her as he began unbuttoning her jeans. "If you'll let me," he said with a smirk, and Kathryn laid her head back down, satisfied to let him continue his journey unhindered.

#

She was wearing his shirt again, and nothing else.

Tim watched appreciatively as she bent to pick up her newly appropriated bottle of Scotch. "Can I interest you in a drink, Marshal?" she asked. Tim smiled, then wiggled the cup he'd already half-filled with most of what remained of his bourbon.

"Thank you ma'am, but I'm all set for now."

After Tim had made up for his previously lackluster performance, Kathryn had switched quickly to efficiency mode. She'd used the disinfectant she bought on nearly every surface of the room before they'd warmed up their TV dinners and put the frozen food they'd bought into the mini fridge. Afterward, Kathryn had showered and put on the Grizzlies shirt again. Tim was sitting up against the headboard of his bed, shirtless and wearing a pair of comfortable shorts he used for sleeping. He watched Kathryn setup the motel's DVD player with one of the CDs she'd purchased and he admired the black abstract tattoo that wrapped around her right thigh. It reminded him of the wording he'd seen on her torso.

"What's your tattoo say?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?" She looked down at her thighs. "They don't say anything."

"Not those; the one under..." he gestured to the space between his pecs and his ribs. "Is it Latin or something? I couldn't read it."

"Ahh, Deputy, you're playing a dangerous game here. You keep asking me about my tattoos and I'm liable to start asking about yours."

Tim looked down at the markings on his right forearm and chest, but as she walked back to her bed, she flicked a particularly obvious scar on his left shoulder to indicate she hadn't been referring to his ink. He wondered how personal her tattoos must be for her to liken them to a battle scar. Despite a number of sarcastic responses that bubbled up in his throat, he decided to keep quiet for now. He liked relaxed Kathryn, and he wasn't interested in riling her up just yet.

Kathryn was spreading out the papers she'd picked up from the pharmacy and the map she'd purchased. Tim was curious what she was doing, but decided he would finish his drink before asking about it. After the day they'd shared together, a little buzz was exactly what he needed. And anyway, he decided he liked watching her work. The concentration that spread across her face and the way she held her pointer finger against her cheek as she reviewed the materials in front of her was endearing. Her short hair spilled over her face and he knew it was a dangerous sign that he wanted to reach across the space between their beds in order to tuck it behind her ear.

Instead, he took a long sip of his drink, focused on the sound of Kathryn's music. It wasn't what he expected. Rather than classic rock, she had selected something that sounded supremely angry and overwhelmingly melancholy in turn. He couldn't decide whether he liked it or not, though he was leaning toward the latter.

When he finished his drink, Tim stood up and looked over the papers spread out before Kathryn. "What've you got here?" he asked.

"I've got a map of Daniel Boone and a whole bunch of truck manifests." She looked up at him. "I'm trying to figure out where I can find that shipment when it comes through in two days. Most of these are vehicles we know have been associated with this particular organization before, others are those that have been flagged as suspicious. I'm looking for any info that indicates one of them could be heading here."

"What's in the shipment? Drugs, weapons?"

"Worse," she said, and then quickly, "You wanna help?" He knew it was a distraction, so he wouldn't follow up on her previous comment, but this was a puzzle. And puzzles he was good at. The kind of work that Raylan was constantly passing off on him at the office, while he always made a fuss about it, was the kind of thing he actually enjoyed doing. Reviewing disparate information and putting the pieces together correctly was satisfying in a way few other things were.

Tim grabbed the map from her bed and settled back onto his own with it, studying the topography and the trails thoughtfully as he emptied the remainder of the bourbon from the bottle into his cup. "You sure they'll be in a semi?" he asked.

"Reasonably sure. If that info ends up being wrong, there isn't much either one of us will be able to do and this will all--all 8 years of it--be for naught."

"And you really think if I'd let them kill you, that would have been better?"

Kathryn put down the papers in her hands and looked over at him. "You enlisted when you were 17 years old. Went through Ranger school and sniper training before completing multiple tours, and you really want me to believe you don't know what it feels like to be willing to die for a cause you believe in?"

Tim snorted, took a sip of his drink. "That's not a cause I'm willing to die for anymore," he said.

"I figured as much," she whispered and when he looked at her questioningly, she clarified, "Those crossed scimitars on your chest evoke more disillusionment than acquiescence."

"Throwing all your vocab words at me, now, are you? And anyway, being in a war zone is not the same as dying needlessly in a field in Kentucky," he said, still waiting for her to actually answer his question. "Besides, I left you Ibsen, didn't I?"

"Don't play dumb, you only missed because I shot him first. If you'd left Popesco and Melnik--or at least one of them--alive, I'd be blissfully unaware in whatever afterlife awaits while my superiors tracked them directly to this shipment. Instead, I'm trying to pinpoint a meeting location somewhere over 1100 square miles of forest with a deranged Marshal who keeps asking me about my tattoos."

"You have to admit, though, I'm a lot of fun to hang around. And I am a hell of a shot," he said.

"Listen, Deputy, I already gave you your raspberry star. That is the best, and only, award I have to grant you."

"Recent events indicate that is factually inaccurate." Tim was pleased to see a smile bloom across her face in response.

"Besides," he said, "I don't think we're looking at all 1100 miles," when he saw that this information piqued her interest, he continued, "If they're coming in a truck that big, there's maybe a dozen or so places they could manage that. I don't think we'll be up as late as you thought, unless you have other activities in mind for after."

Kathryn gave a short laugh, then tossed him a pen. "Mark anywhere you think is a good candidate," she said, and she turned back to her manifests, sorting through them methodically.

The music was angry again and Tim figured he'd try his luck, "Can we please put something else on?" he asked.

"Nope," she said without looking up, and he knew there was no use arguing with her.


	10. Birds, Maps, and Baseball Caps

Tim and Kathryn stood side by side, looking down at the unfolded map he'd laid on the floor. There were five locations circled. "These are the only spots I think make any sense. The roads are large enough to accommodate a truck the size you're expecting, and they're secluded enough to be usable for your guys."

"Deputy Gutterson..." she trailed off, looked over at him with a smile, "Color me impressed. I never would have been able to do this so quickly." She clapped her hand on his back, "I'm glad I didn't go with the Marine after all." Tim was pleased by her reaction. Praise never got old, no matter what anyone might say about it. And he knew he'd done a good job; his time in the Rangers meant he had an eye for terrain and his instincts for this sort of thing, while obviously subjective to an extent, were rarely wrong.

Kathryn turned and grabbed a small stack of manifests from her bed. "I've got about a dozen trucks, which is a lot, but certainly not unreasonable. We could probably narrow that further tomorrow." Tim watched as Kathryn bit her thumb again, looking at the map thoughtfully. "Are any of these spots near a campground?"

Tim knelt down and circled three of the spots he had previously indicated. "You think that's important?"

"I think they'll have whoever is picking up the truck there at least the day before. It would make sense, if they're already using the park, to use the amenities available to them."

Tim stood. "These three are close enough; just a short hike through the woods."

Kathryn looked over the map again. "You think you'll be up for a hike tomorrow? I'd love to get a feel for each of these spots. Might help us narrow it further."

Tim nodded. He liked that she wasn't fighting him on his involvement anymore. He wondered whether that was because of his contributions to the cause, or their newly physical relationship. He hoped it was the former. "How many guys you think will be there for the truck when it comes?"

Kathryn rolled her neck and it popped loudly several times. It was late and they were both showing signs of fatigue, despite their best efforts--and the entire gallon of iced tea they'd shared. "That's a wild card, honestly. I'd guess four or five, maybe? But I don't know exactly how they plan to make the swap, so there could be more or less, depending on what other vehicles are involved or how concerned they are about this being intercepted. I don't know if they still think I'm alive; if so, that could mean they beef up the security."

"Where was this drop supposed to happen originally?"

"In that field. That's why I knew so familiar when you were brought in; I'd been scoping it out for this before they asked me to meet there ahead of time."

Tim tapped the pen against his nose. "How did you know Ibsen was lying when he told you about the truck stop?"

Kathryn smiled. "I didn't know for sure, but it seemed off. Too out in the open. I think he picked the first spot he knew they'd used before, but that was for a pretty standard exchange of drugs. This is different. Either way, I figured if I threatened genital harm, he'd reveal the truth one way or the other."

"Did your guys pick him up already?"

"Probably. Though, if he's still lying on that concrete floor, I'm not going to lose any sleep over it."

Tim turned toward her. "You don't like him very much, do you?"

Kathryn laughed. It was loud and biting; a jarring sound that filled the whole room. "No, Deputy, I don't." She looked at him and he waited for her to continue, but she didn't.

"You know, it might be easier for me to understand the job if you were more forthcoming. Should I threaten you with genital harm? Or something else?" he asked suggestively.

The smile left Kathryn's face and she stepped away from him. She picked up the bottle of scotch from the bureau and poured herself her second drink of the night. "You asked me what my tattoo said earlier." She took a sip of her drink and Tim waited. _"Primum non nocere. Deinde noli pati_ ," she said, "It's a poorly construed teenage translation of 'do no harm, take no shit.'"

Kathryn bent down and folded up the map, tucking it carefully back into its compact rectangle. She put it on the bedside table along with the truck manifests she thought were promising. Tim realized she had ducked the actual question he had asked her by instead answering a less important one. He watched her turn off the DVD player and tidy up the leftover containers from their dinner. He knew he should help, but he was too busy trying to decide whether he was irritated by her evasion or pleased she had finally answered a personal question about herself. He had to hide a chuckle behind his hand as he imagined an energetic and determined teenage Kathryn striding into a tattoo parlor spouting bad Latin and demanding her homemade translation etched permanently into her skin.

He was suddenly very grateful that he had been in his mid-twenties before he'd gotten his first tattoo.

"What?" she asked, looking at him from where she was packing away the manifests she no longer needed into the envelope they'd come in. He guessed he didn't hide his laugh as well as he'd thought.

"You're a strange bird, Ms. Kathryn No-Last-Name," he said by way of answer, and made his way back to his own bed.

Kathryn ignored the unasked question and crawled into her bed as well before turning off the lamp between them. Tim's eyes remained open for a moment, staring up into the dark at nothing.

And then, "Quack!" The sound came from Kathryn's bed in the dark, and though both laughed more heartily than they should have. Now he knew they were both exhausted, because that was too dumb to be so funny.

#

Tim and Kathryn were both up early the following morning, and they packed their belongings quickly and without ceremony. Kathryn stuffed her clothing into a plastic Walmart bag from the night before, and Tim pulled the rifle out from beneath the bed. They ate a frozen burrito each, and left the rest behind for the next occupant to deal with.

It was just over a three hour drive to Daniel Boone and they were both eager to get on the road. About halfway to their destination, Tim pulled the car into a gas station to fuel up and grab some food. Kathryn disappeared to use the restroom while he stepped in line to buy gas, and he smiled when he noticed a display of Kentucky gear near the front door, though he didn't see any holsters.

When Kathryn climbed back into the car with a bag full of snacks and caffeinated beverages, there was a little blue backpack and a baseball cap waiting for her on the passenger seat.

"What's this?" she asked, inspecting the items.

"Thought you could use a proper bag for your new compact discs," he said. "Consider them repayment for the pizza and burritos."

Kathryn opened the backpack and stuffed her gas station purchases into it. Tim caught a glimpse of some granola bars and a bottle of water as she packed. "Thank you, Deputy Gutterson. You truly are a testament to your rank and office."

Tim was grateful that the radio stations in Kentucky didn't seem to play the kind of music Kathryn had forced him to listen to last night, and that she hadn't tried to put one of her CDs into the player instead. He wasn't sure he could listen to anymore yelling. He was also pleasantly surprised that she seemed to enjoy the country music he had chosen just fine; he'd even caught her singing softly along to an upbeat Collin Raye song. Their path took them through part of Harlan County and his mind drifted to his co-workers and what they were doing with their Monday morning. It was too early for most of them--except Rachel, maybe--to yet be in the office, but he hoped his absence would cause a bit of a stir. He liked the idea of being missed.

As if triggered by some sixth sense as one of his Marshals traveled through the most troublesome county in his jurisdiction, Art's name and number suddenly flashed on Tim's cellphone. He took a deep breath and answered.

"Good morning, Art! How are you?" he strove for overly cheerful and hoped he was successful.

"Cut the bullshit, Tim, where the hell are you?"

"I'm on vacation. Didn't you see my text?" Tim spared a glance at Kathryn, who looked amused.

"Tim," there was a warning edge to Art's voice, "This doesn't have anything to do with the little redhead you left here with on Thursday, does it? Because Raylan has cornered the market on stupid romantic entanglements for the Lexington office. If you insist on following in his footsteps, you're gonna have to transfer."

The lie came easier than it should have. "I just needed a few days off, Art. Nothing untoward here. Want to catch up on my reading. Did you know _The Hobbit_ has a sequel? A couple of 'em. I heard they're pretty okay."

He heard Art sigh on the other end of the phone and he could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off a headache. "All right, Tim. Enjoy your vacation. We'll see you Wednesday."

And he hung up without another sound, which was fine with Tim.

"Are you sure the Marshal service will be okay without you for a few more days?" Kathryn asked, and he couldn't tell whether she was looking for an excuse to get rid of him or if she was disappointed he might have to leave.

"My colleagues are more than capable. I have every faith they will be just fine."

Kathryn put her foot back up on the dashboard and Tim wondered at the familiarity it stipulated. She'd done it yesterday, too, and if someone like Raylan had tried the same thing, Tim knew he would have threatened to shoot his foot off if he didn't take it down. But he liked that Kathryn felt at ease with him, and he didn't actually know why. He hoped it was just the adrenaline and proximity of the last few days; that the closeness they seemed to prematurely share would dissipate with distance and distraction.

He didn't want to think of how he would feel if that weren't the case. Kathryn had given zero indication they would have any relationship--professional or otherwise--following the completion of this mission; hell, she'd already tried to dismiss him several times. If the feelings bubbling up in his chest were real and not merely a side effect of circumstance, the fallout would be brutal.

"What's the game plan, here?" he asked as a way to distract himself from the less than helpful line of thinking he'd found himself unexpectedly entrenched in.

Kathryn stared out the window as she spoke, "Enter the park. Hike to the three locations you indicated to see if we can get a better feel for which one they'll use. Camp overnight. Hopefully stop the bad guys tomorrow. Go home and take a nap."

Tim wondered where 'home' was. "Camping, huh? You got a tent in that Walmart bag I missed earlier?"

"I know you've got a sleeping bag in your trunk, Mr. Army Ranger," she said. "And I don't plan on sleeping much, anyway."

Tim quirked an eyebrow lasciviously and looked over at her. "Oh, yeah?"

She finally turned her head back in his direction and he delighted in the flirtatious smile she flashed him. "Yeah. Because I'll be working." And then, more seriously, "This is the only chance I have to get this right. No missteps." She turned and looked back out the window and he wondered if the thoughts racing through her mind were as jumbled and confused as his own.

#

Daniel Boone National Forest was a beautiful place; he'd come here many times on his own to run the trails or spend a night in the woods away from the noise and lights of Lexington. It cost them $5 for a parking pass that would get them through to Wednesday, which Tim paid for because Kathryn's stolen money clip had finally run out. "I expect to be reimbursed in full," he said as he hanged the orange tag on his rear view mirror. Her response was a glare.

Tim parked his car in the lot as directed and moved to the trunk. He opened it and stared at the contents, trying to determine what the next 48 hours would likely entail and how he could best be prepared. He watched through the car as Kathryn packed a spare t-shirt into the backpack he'd bought her and secured the gaudy _Welcome to the Bluegrass State_ hat on her head. He was glad he'd bought it, even if it had mostly been an attempt to annoy her. She was pale and he doubted she'd thought to purchase sunscreen at that gas station, since she had yet to remember to buy a toothbrush. At least the hat would keep her face out of the sun.

Tim reached into his duffel and pulled out his own baseball cap and a small rucksack. Into it, he stuffed a spare t-shirt and dry socks, as well as a sweater before securing the tightly rolled sleeping bag to the bottom. He knew Kathryn had food and water, so he opted to forgo any such supplies in lieu of using remaining available space for ammunition for his personal firearm. He slung the backpack over his shoulders and stared at the rifle case, wondering if he should bring it. The thought of lugging it with him all day was unpleasant, but not impossible.

"Bring it," Kathryn said. "I can carry the backpack if that helps."

"How chivalrous," he said, heaving the rifle case out of the back and slamming the trunk closed. "I think I can handle it, though." She watched him guiltily as he maneuvered his gear into position. She was carrying the map he'd marked for her and he nodded toward the trails. "Lead the way."

The tranquility of being in nature settled over both of them comfortably. They stayed on the main trail only for a mile or two before peeling off into the wooded area beyond in order to circumvent nosy hikers or park rangers who might be too chatty or have questions about the shape of Tim's cargo. For their part, both Tim and Kathryn seemed content to take the walk in silence. It was a humid early fall day and they were both sweating unattractively. Tim was glad for the cap because at least it kept the sweat out of his eyes. When they were about six miles in, Kathryn took a seat on a rock and pulled the water and a few protein bars from her pack. Tim was glad for the rest. It had been a long time since he'd carried this much weight through terrain like this.

"You all right there, Deputy?"

"Just fine, ma'am. I'm not nearly as delicate as I look."

They ate their meager lunch in silence, passing the water bottle back and forth between them.

"I think the first spot you marked should be about another mile and a half," she said. Tim nodded, shoving the last of the bar into his mouth and stretching his back before donning the pack once more.

Tim had been right about one thing; this would be a good spot for shady dealings of any sort. The road that cut through it was wide, but in the entire time they spent surveying it, not a single vehicle had come through. They circled a few miles around, but found no evidence that anyone else was there or had been, so after consulting the map once more, they headed in the direction of the second location Tim had indicated as a possibility.

As they came over the crest of a hill that overlooked the area, Tim looked around with keen eyes and knew immediately they were in the right spot.

"This is it," he said, and Kathryn turned to look at him quizzically.

"How are you so sure? We just got here."

"See those guys over there?"

Kathryn glanced in the direction Tim's eyes were looking. There were two men standing thigh-deep in a creek fly fishing. She nodded.

"That guy on the left just started as we came up over the ridge, but he doesn't have a lure on the end of his line."

Kathryn obviously trusted his judgement because she nodded and kept walking as if nothing had happened, straight back into the woods and away from the men's view. She pulled out the map and inspected it once more. "So they probably have a vehicle here," she said, pointing toward the nearest recreational campsite. "It's a great way for them to hide in plain sight."

Tim agreed, wondering if there were other people located nearby they hadn't yet seen. His head swiveled around instinctively, but there were too many places for a person to hide. "We should keep moving; reconvene further away to discuss our approach."

Kathryn nodded, tucking the map away and leading them on an invisible course through the trees.

When they'd put what they both considered a sufficient amount of distance between themselves and the inept fishermen, they both removed their packs and sat onto a downed tree. Kathryn took out her cellphone and made a call. "We've got it. Any word on the trucks?" A pause. "Okay. Yes, I will." He watched as she pulled the phone away from her ear, but instead of hanging up, she left it open on the tree trunk next to her. Tim raised an eyebrow and she simply pressed a finger to her mouth in response, asking him to stay quiet.

After a minute or two, she ended the call and closed the phone. "Letting her track my location," she said, "And she's narrowed it to four possible vehicles based on travel today, so we're getting closer." Tim noted the use of a singular pronoun for the first time; previously Kathryn had used 'them' or 'us' to describe who she was talking with on the phone. He wondered if she had intended to let that small piece of information slip.

Tim checked his watch and saw that it was a little after four in the afternoon. They'd maintained a healthy pace, given that he estimated they'd traveled just over 16 miles. Granted, it wouldn't have passed muster at Fort Benning, but considering Kathryn was no Ranger, he figured he'd give her a pass. He surveyed their current location, noting how flat it was on all sides. While the visibility was certainly a good thing, he would have preferred to have something at his back. "Is this where you want to stay tonight?" he asked.

"I'll defer to the resident Ranger on that."

Tim stood and grabbed his pack, Kathryn following suit soon after. He started walking further into the woods, away from the road that rain through the park. He found an alcove near a rise in the terrain a few miles in. He told Kathryn to stay put and traded her the rifle case for the map. He walked a half mile perimeter and scrutinized their location in relation to the spot he'd marked on the map, as well as other trails and campsites nearby. He was satisfied they were far enough away from any high traffic areas and returned to Kathryn to let her know as much.

They built up a small fire from some branches and brush. Tim was all set to show off his outdoorsman skills when Kathryn pulled the lighter she'd taken from Ibsen's house out of her pocket and started it easily.

"Well, you're no fun," Tim said and settled back with his back against the rock face he'd positioned at their backs. They'd be SOL if it rained tonight, but at least the outcropping would protect them from the wind somewhat. They had both changed into a fresh t-shirt and left the sweaty ones they'd worn on their hike hang over the low branches of a nearby tree to dry. Kathryn pulled bags of beef jerky and trail mix from her bag, which they split for supper.

After they'd eaten, Kathryn pulled the map out once more and started making notes in the margin with the pen she'd taken from their last motel. Tim assumed that if she needed his input, she would ask, so he leaned he head back and let his eyes drift closed. He had no intention of sleeping, but his eyes were tired from the long, monotonous drive, and he enjoyed listening to the soft sounds of nature interrupted only by Kathryn's occasional scribbling or muttering under her breath.

Tim inhaled the scent of the fire and the early autumn leaves, and it was easy to forget why he was here. Instead, he let his thoughts fade and blur; allowed the muscles in his face and his neck relax against the stone. And he was content.


	11. Keep on Truckin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dark themes & things here, folks. TW for themes of sexual abuse.

By the time the sun had set, Kathryn and Tim had come to an agreement on how to proceed the following day. First, they would hike back to the place they had designated as the exchange location and Tim would setup. He would keep watch while Kathryn returned to his car and drove it to the parking area they believed their fishermen friends hailed from at the nearest campsite. According to the park map, it was on the other side of the waterway across the road. While it might be difficult to cross, it would also provide them with much faster access to their vehicle when they needed to leave, and accessing it during the day would offer an opportunity for Kathryn to identify any additional players who might be involved.

They still weren't sure the exact time the truck would be coming through. Kathryn had assumed it would be closer to evening, but not too dark, since the road had no lights, and Tim agreed with her. That still left several hours and no way for them to narrow their timeframe any further. If they were right, hopefully Tim would have enough light to neatly take out any undesirable personnel, as well as provide them enough time to secure the contents of the truck before it was too dark. While Tim didn't like the idea of splitting up, Kathryn had made a convincing argument for moving the car from a both a security and contingency perspective. If they were wrong and no truck came, it would be a lot easier to hike 4 miles to their car than the more than 15 that currently separated them from their mode of transportation. And knowing whether there were other suspects nearby who might drop in could prove invaluable.

He was glad she had at least agreed there was no need to directly engage with any of their potential targets. Tim felt a lot better this time, knowing she'd be spotting for him and he could safely neutralize anyone who might be a threat. He disliked it when people put themselves needlessly in danger to prove a point.

Now that it was dark and their decisions made, they had settled next to their small fire to rest. It was chilly and Tim had thought himself very gentlemanly when he offered Kathryn his sweater, but she had turned him down emphatically. At least she didn't argue when he suggested they unzip the sleeping bag and use it as a blanket for both of them. They were nestled close against the rock outcropping, shoulder-to-shoulder under the bag, enjoying the radiating warmth of their fire. Tim was staring into the flames, letting his mind drift over tomorrow's itinerary over and over, when he noticed Kathryn had started humming beside him. He looked over and saw that she had pulled up one of her knees and was resting her chin against it as she watched the fire. The tune she was humming sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"What's the word, hummingbird?"

Tim’s words snapped her out of her thoughts. Kathryn ducked her head, looking bashful. "Sorry," she said, "I know you're not a fan." He didn't know what she meant, and his face must have said as much. "It's from that album I had on last night. I've had it in my head all day." Tim pitched his brain backward and tried to find the melody, but he couldn't. "I'm not used to silence," she admitted.

Tim wondered whether she often hummed to herself. He loved silence. Had always found peace in the absence of noise. "Sing it," he said, and she laughed at him.

"Not likely, Deputy."

Tim weighed his options and decided to change topics rather than coerce her into singing for him. "Then tell me about Ibsen. Nothing in the info you gave me about those four targets stood out about him at all. Unless you neglected to include some extensive rap sheet, I don't understand what he has to do with this."

Kathryn watched him closely, her head still resting on her knee. The light from the fire made her auburn hair look bright orange, and it threw half of her face into intense shadow, which made it difficult to read her expression. She waited so long to respond that Tim turned back toward the fire, irritated to not receive an answer, but used to her ignoring his questions.

"Ibsen is a groomer," she finally said. "His job is to find vulnerable children and gain their trust in order to prepare them for sex work." Tim looked at her and felt his jaw cement itself into a hard line. "Of all the men in that field, Ibsen is the worst because he's the only one who wasn't in it for power or money.” She paused. “He's the only one who truly believes he has done nothing wrong."

Tim took in this information. While he'd had his suspicions following their visit to his house, it was different to know. And he was glad Kathryn hadn't told him earlier because he knew Ibsen would not have survived their encounter if he had. Tim’s mind quickly extrapolated the implications of this regarding the truck they were intercepting the next day and let his anger swell and settle in his chest, knowing it would serve him well tomorrow. "What did you say? To Solkov?" he asked. Kathryn quirked an eyebrow and he clarified, "Before I took my first shot, while you were on your knees, you said something with a stupid grin on your face. You thought you were gonna die. What were your last words?"

Kathryn relaxed her leg, leaning back against the rock and letter her eyes focus once more on the fire. "I asked him if he really thought he could hurt so many people and not pay with his own life."

He felt a grin tug at his mouth. "Well, Ms. Kathryn, you really are a badass!"

"Especially since I said it in Russian," she said, and when they made eye contact again, they both laughed.

Tim wondered what his last words would have been any of the times he'd had a brush with death. Admittedly, there were more than a few scenarios to choose from, but he doubted he would have been as eloquent as Kathryn had, in Russian or any other language. He probably would have just shouted _Fuck you!_ or _Well, shit_. Maybe, he thought, he wouldn't have said anything at all. He was glad none of those times had been his last. He thought perhaps he should consider making his last words really mean something, whenever the time came.

Tim leaned his head back against the rock and closed his eyes. It certainly wasn't a comfortable place to catch a few hours of sleep, but Kathryn had agreed to take the first watch and he decided he'd better get to resting before he missed his chance.

At some point after he'd drifted off, Tim became aware of Kathryn's voice beside him. She was signing softly to herself, “ _Calm me and let me taste the salt you breathed while you were underneath...”_ He only caught it briefly; just a moment of consciousness behind closed eyelids, but he decided he liked her voice very much.

#

The evening had been uneventful as they had both hoped and expected, so they packed up early and began their sojourn as soon as there was sufficient light to keep them from breaking an ankle as they maneuvered through the underbrush. They made good time and Tim prowled the ridge three times before choosing a spot he thought gave them the best vantage for the day. Kathryn left him with food and a water bottle, but took his overnight bag and the empty rifle case. She cut an interesting silhouette carrying off three bags into the woods, and he was appreciative that his day didn't require as much hiking as hers did.

Tim was unsurprised when he saw two men dip out of the trees across the way and wade into the stream just after the sun was fully risen around 7:30. He hadn't been close enough the day before to tell whether they were the same men who had been there the day before. He was, however, surprised when he later received separate phone calls from Rachel and Art at almost the same time. Tim spared his phone only the most cursory of glances to make sure it wasn't Kathryn attempting to contact him, and he let both of them go to voicemail.

He was on vacation.

Tim checked his watch and figured Kathryn was probably just about back to his car now. He'd know within a few hours whether she had finally decided to ditch him. Maybe this had all been an elaborate scheme to frame him for the murder of some poor fisherman who was just really bad at his chosen hobby.

All things considered, this was one of the more comfortable days Tim could recall with a sniper rifle in his hands. It was pleasantly warm with a nice early autumn breeze, and his position didn't require any awkward craning of his neck or wedging of his legs in order to maintain a clear view. He wished he had some binoculars, but the scope also got the job done just fine. Even if the night would be bloody, he could appreciate the beautiful day.

Tim had learned a long time ago that it was important to savor the moment you were in. He reflected on that and whether that was part of what he'd enjoyed about his time with Kathryn. The little, stupid moments that had helped distract him from the ruthless and violent nature of that time. He hadn't been particularly drawn to her when she'd first appeared at his office, or even that first night when she'd briefed him. He knew why he'd gone against the orders she'd given him; he had realized a long time ago he knew better than a piece of paper when someone should live or die. But after that? Why had he gone with her, and stayed with her long after she'd told him he was no longer needed?

Why had he ever done a single thing he'd done? He'd enlisted half on a whim as way to get away from his shitty dad, he'd joined the Marshals because a buddy told him he was either gonna be in law enforcement or contract murder after the Rangers. He'd followed Kathryn because something in his gut told him he should. Maybe it was some deeply ingrained dedication to the mission leftover from his time overseas, or his dislike for a puzzle left uncompleted. Maybe it had just been her.

Or maybe there was some other reason he was never going to consider. Whatever the impetus, he was here now, and he was glad. He'd only known Kathryn a few days during which she had shown herself to be capable, single-minded, and even deceptive. He thought a little self-effacingly that he couldn't help if he found that charming, or if her commitment to her cause was infectious. She made him want to care as much as she did. He guessed maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

While Tim's mind skittered over his thoughts, his eyes remained singularly focused on the task at hand. He had not seen another person in the hours he'd been perched between the rocks he'd chosen as his cover, and he sat casually enjoying the sunshine while he watched the two men pretend to give a shit about the fish. Thankfully, Tim's time in the Rangers meant he was well acquainted with tedium and no stranger to the methods by which he could assuage his boredom while maintaining focus. Still, he was happy when he caught sight of Kathryn walking through the woods toward him.

By his estimate, Kathryn had walked more than 20 miles today, and most of that had been done with three bags. If so, she'd maintained a brutal pace for most of her hike. They'd left their campsite just before 5AM and she'd left him around 6:45. Now it was 3PM and she was back. She looked accordingly exhausted and sweaty. Tim thought she probably should have stayed with the car, but he knew she would never have agreed to that.

"You should have left your backpack in the car, too," he said. Kathryn sat down next to him and took the gas station backpack off. She pulled out a fresh t-shirt for herself and handed him a bottle of water and an energy drink.

"Thought you were broke," he said.

Kathryn shrugged. "You're welcome."

He was grateful, though her certainly wasn't going to say as much. That was another thing he liked about Kathryn now that he thought about it. Despite her brusque manner, she had always been thoughtful; grabbing him a muffin or handing him the doughnuts to eat the moment he was awake. Of course, all her thoughtfulness seemed to revolve around food, but he would never argue against baked goods or breakfast.

"You hear anything?"

Kathryn shook her head. "All good here?"

Tim nodded. "You mind takin' over for a minute? Gotta take a leak."

Kathryn moved over so she could see across the road unimpeded, and he left to relieve himself. By the time he returned, Kathryn was wearing a fresh dry shirt and had already opened the energy drink which he realized now was for the two of them to share. Maybe he was giving her too much credit on the thoughtful aspects of her personality.

#

Kathryn said only one car in the sparsely populated campground parking lot had out of state plates, and she had only seen one other man at the adjoining campsite. That gave Tim some hope that things would go smoothly. As the sun began to lower, it splashed vibrant reds and oranges across the sky that he would have admired if he hadn't been nursing a growing concern that it was getting too late.

"Maybe I was wrong," he said, wondering why he'd been so sure the day before; why he hadn't insisted they still venture to the third location he'd considered.

"Relax Deputy. I trust your judgement."

"Why?" he asked.

"You've proven yourself to be of sound mind and good judgement previously."

Tim fidgeted with his baseball cap, turning it backward since he no longer needed it to shield his eyes from the sun. This was making him anxious.

Kathryn yawned, tapping at her face firmly in an attempt to wake herself up. It was a good thing Tim was handling the firearms tonight because she looked too exhausted to safely operate one. He checked his watch again; it was creeping toward 7PM, and he didn't like their odds if the night progressed much further.

"Listen," Kathryn said, tilting her head toward the road. Tim heard it too; the sound of a truck coming from the west. He looked across at the two men just as they stood and made their way from their fishing spot to wait by the side of the road.

Tim grabbed the rifle carefully and pressed himself into a position more conducive to shooting. Kathryn pulled her backpack on and checked her firearm. She was still using the 9MM she'd lifted from Melnik and Tim wondered how many rounds remained in the clip. She seemed satisfied when she tucked it into her waistband, and Tim hoped whatever she had was sufficient in case it was needed.

He didn't like that their target was coming in from the west. The road ran between the ridge they were on and a wide bend in the river north of their location. It was slow enough here to make for a good fishing spot, but it also meant there was almost no cover once you were off the ridge until you made it to the other side and could use the trees. They had an excellent view of the road and the water until the tree line, but the truck was coming in from their left, meaning the driver's side faced away from them. Tim had hoped he'd have a clear shot of the driver and whoever walked up next to the vehicle to speak with him.

Tim said nothing to Kathryn because he was afraid she'd use his hesitation as an excuse to leap into action and put herself in more danger than necessary. He would just have to hope that when he fired the first shot, everyone would jump out of the truck. _Here's hoping_.

Tim's fears were justified when the truck pulled up next to the two men and they sidled up to the side of the truck he could not see.

"Fuck," Kathryn said softly to his left.

"I know. I'll figure it out."

"Not that," she said, and he saw that she was pointing toward the east.

Headlights. After an entire day with no more than a park ranger on a 4-wheeler, there were now headlights breaking through the soft twilight of the park. They were still far away that the men below wouldn't yet see, but from up here Tim could tell they were closing in quickly. He swung the rifle in that direction to make use of the scope.

"It's a fucking minivan." He brought the scope back to the truck just as a man stepped out of the back and took point at the rear. He could hear Kathryn moving frantically next to him and he glanced over to see that she was rubbing dirt across her face and into her hair; her jeans and arms were already patchily covered in the stuff.

She looked at him, "I trust you, Deputy."

And then she was gone, running west against the dwindling light.

"Shit," Tim muttered under his breath. He should have known better than to think any part of this would go smoothly. When was the last time any case or mission he'd worked had gone smoothly?

Tim waited with his eye pressed to the scope. His stomach clenched more tightly with each passing second as he waited to see what exactly Kathryn had planned.

And then he heard it, faint but distinct.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Please... I need... I need help."

Tim watched the man at the back of the truck raise his gun as he peered down the road toward the source of the noise.

"Hello? Oh, thank god! Can you help me?"

Kathryn was stumbling down the road, covered in dirt and leaves, and she had produced a rather convincing number of tears.

"Please, my boyfriend! He... fell... I'm so glad I found... Ahh!" Kathryn shot her hands up next to her head as though she was only realizing the man three feet in front of her was holding a weapon. "Please… please don't hurt me..." Tim was impressed by the refreshed supply of tears, "I’m just looking for help."

Tim noticed that one of the fishermen had peaked his head out from the back corner of the truck with his gun at the read.

"Please!" came Kathryn's voice again and he watched as the first man walked uncomfortably close to her and said something he couldn't hear. Kathryn's still had her hands up in surrender, and her body shook with fabricated sobs.

It happened more quickly than Tim was prepared for.

Kathryn used a downward sweep of her right arm to knock the man's gun from his hand as her left elbow slammed into his jaw. In what felt like the same motion, she had drawn her gun from her waistband and put two efficient bullets into the chest of the man still wearing his fishing gear.

Tim took out the second fisherman the moment he peaked around the back of the truck, leaving Kathryn free to finish off the man standing next to her with two bullets in his chest as well.

Tim didn't have a moment to take the scene in before another man climbed out of the passenger’s side of the truck’s cab. Tim ensured he was dead before he'd closed the door. Kathryn walked along the south-facing side of the truck. She came around the front and aimed her gun directly down the road ahead of her. Tim didn't know what she was doing at first. Then he realized the minivan had just rounded a corner and was now in full view of the truck. He heard the brakes squeal as the car came to an abrupt stop, but his eyes stayed fixed on the truck, searching for any signs of movement.

"Turn around!" He heard Kathryn's clear, firm voice. "Turn your vehicle around!"

He assumed the sounds of a tire screeching and a thud indicated that the driver of the vehicle had heeded her warning and was heading as quickly as possible the opposite direction. Then, shots rang out from the driver's side of the cab and Tim cursed because he couldn't see the person responsible. He watched as Kathryn narrowly avoided getting hit and she stepped to duck behind the wheel well on the passenger side. Tim still couldn't get a clear shot, so he made the decision to move.

The hill on the other side of the ridge was steep, and it took him too long to get down it. He was painfully aware of how exposed he was the entire time he was running down, and he hoped the driver was the only foe left standing. He could hear more gunfire as he finally made it to the road. A cursory glance to his right proved that Kathryn was still in position returning fire. He watched as she pulled on the trigger again and nothing happened. She was finally out. Tim raced across the back of the truck and took a single breath. He rounded the back corner and brought the scope to his eye at the same moment, aiming down the length of the vehicle. He pulled the trigger before his brain had the chance to fully acknowledge what was happening. The man from the driver's seat was dead in an instant.

"Deputy!" Kathryn shouted from the opposite end.

"I'm good. Let me clear the cab."

Tim raced toward the front of the truck and pointed his rifle inside the cabin. There was no one inside, but the truck was still running, which at least meant they had the benefit of its lights against the increasing darkness surrounding them. When Tim came around the front of the truck, he had expected to meet Kathryn, but she wasn’t there. For a moment, he thought he had neglected to account for another person, but then he heard the back door of the truck sliding open.

As Tim walked carefully toward the back of the truck, he heard Kathryn's voice from inside. "Yes. Five confirmed. ETA?" He realized belatedly that she must be on the phone.

When he rounded the rear of the vehicle, he felt like someone was pouring cement onto his insides.

The truck was full of young women and children who looked out at him like he imagined Gollum had looked up at Bilbo in the dark of his cave. He felt sick.

Kathryn was crouched next to one of the older looking girls—Tim guessed she was maybe 17—and pressing the phone into her hands. The girl was crying. It looked like she had been for a long time. He was astounded and disgusted by the range of ages he saw. It made him even angrier that he hadn't put a bullet between Ibsen's eyes himself. He hoped Kathryn might give him the details of whatever this organization was and let him find and dispose of each and every member.

"Deputy Gutterson." Kathryn was standing at the edge of the truck bed, looking down at him. "Time to go."

Tim was taken aback as she jumped out of the truck and landed next to him. "What?"

"We have to leave."

Tim sputtered. "Shouldn't we wait for your guys to arrive? Or at least the park rangers?"

"State PD will be here in 10 minutes. We cannot be here when they arrive."

"What are you talking about?"

"You are not authorized to be here. We have to go."

Tim looked back up into the truck; at the teenagers and children huddled together, terrified. The thought of leaving them out here in the dark made beckoned the taste of bile in the back of his throat.

"Deputy!" Tim nearly had a flashback. There was Kathryn, standing against a wooded backdrop, pointing a gun at him.

"I know you're empty," he said.

"Then don't make me look like an idiot. We have to leave."

Tim was about to protest again when he heard it, faintly, in the distance, the sound of sirens. When Kathryn tucked the empty handgun into the back of her waistband, he slung his rifle over his left shoulder and followed her up the road. About a half mile up, she ducked into the trees and they waded through a shallow part of the river. On the other bank, she reached back and grabbed his hand. The sun was gone, now, and all they had to work with was the light of the moon. While it offered some light, it was barely sufficient. "Stay close," she said, and he followed behind her as the sound of the sirens rolled closer through the park.


	12. Blood in the Water

Tim hated tripping over roots in the dark. He trusted Kathryn knew where she was going, but sneaking through the woods by the light of the moon was not his preferred method of transportation. He felt like a criminal, running from what they'd done. And he wasn't a criminal. Never had been; didn't want to be. He wanted to know why they couldn't have waited for local law enforcement to arrive. They should be giving statements now, not careening through the underbrush toward their getaway vehicle.

Tim figured they were about halfway to the campground where she had moved his car when he heard it--someone running toward them through the woods.

Kathryn tugged hard on his arm, pulling him low to the ground as she ducked behind a tree. Tim could barely discern the silhouette of a man against the trees maybe 10 meters away. It looked like he had stopped as well, likely for the same reason they had. Tim carefully brought the rifle from his shoulder and began to raise it, but Kathryn pressed it back down toward the ground. He looked at her and she shook her head emphatically. She signaled him to wait and she crept off, slinking behind bushes and trees to circle around.

The stranger heard her movements and turned toward the sound. It was too dark for him to see much detail, but he placed his hand gingerly on the gun at his side. "Mick? Davis? That you? Bogdan called; sounds like you were really in the shit."

The man spun around, but not quickly enough. Tim watched as Kathryn launched herself out of the brush and tackled the man to the ground. He heard more than saw the struggle and he couldn't have gotten a clear shot off if he'd tried as the two figures before him tussled on the ground. Kathryn yelped and Tim felt helpless; it was so dark he couldn't even discern who had the upper hand.

Tim could hear that someone was taking a beating, and he made his way toward the fumbling bodies, hoping it wasn't Kathryn.

When he reached them only moments later, he discovered her straddling a dead man. Kathryn's right hand and face were spattered with blood. She had used her handgun as a bludgeon by holding it from underneath like a pair of improvised brass knuckles. Tim could see the man had pulled his weapon at some point, but it laid next to him on the ground, useless.

Kathryn was breathing heavily, holding her left side and wincing with each breath. She tossed her gun to the side and swiped a hand over her face. Tim couldn't help but realize she looked like the killer from a slasher movie. It made him uneasy. Looking at the scene before him, Tim was suddenly reminded of her tattoo--unexpectedly lethal creatures of the deep; small, but deadly.

"Go," she said, still atop the man's body.

"What?" he asked, tugging the rifle back over his shoulder.

"I can't..." she said, still panting and he could see, even in the dark, that she had pushed herself beyond the limits of her exhaustion. She finally moved away from the body, rolling onto her back in the leaves. "You'll find it, it's a little over a mile," she pointed vaguely into the distance, "that way."

Tim squatted down beside her. "No, ma'am, that's not gonna happen." Kathryn was still clutching at her left side. Tim pulled her hand away and realized she had been cut with something; maybe she'd fallen onto a sharp rock or maybe the man had a knife at some point, he couldn't be sure. It was difficult to tell in the dark, but the wound looked like it might require stitches. It was no wonder she was finally giving up. "Come on," he said, looping an arm under her shoulders and heaving her into a sitting position. She groaned in protest, but he ignored her and yanked her up to her feet.

"Deputy... ahh!"

If they were only a mile, he could carry her if he had to, but she seemed steady enough on her feet once he helped get her there, and they started in the direction she indicated, though their progress was slow.

Tim pressed his left arm firmly around her; his hand providing pressure over the wound she'd sustained. She faltered and lurched, leaning heavily against him. He struggled to maintain his balance; her weight combined with the weight of the rifle worked to throw his center of gravity into chaos.

It took nearly an hour for them to finally locate his vehicle. By the time they arrived, Kathryn was hardly bearing her own weight, so he tossed her rather unceremoniously into the passenger seat before settling into the driver's side.

"Use the northeast exit," she said. He looked over at her and saw that her eyes were closed, her body collapsed heavily against the seat. She was holding her left side again, but he knew there would be blood on the leather and he wondered how he would explain it the next time the car had to be inspected. He followed her instructions, however, and used the southeast exit out of the parking lot. He kept the headlights off and took the curves a little faster than he should have. He knew being stopped with a woman that looked half-dead in his car was not good, regardless of whether you were a U.S. Marshal or a veteran, and he wanted to be out of the park as quickly as possible.

#

Tim knew they were less than two hours away from his apartment and he briefly considered driving her there just for the familiarity. Instead, he pulled into the parking lot of the first motel he spotted and bought a room on the ground level. The long haired man behind the desk had given him a strange look when he requested an end unit behind the office, but had acquiesced to his request. Tim drove up to the room and gingerly helped Kathryn out of the car. He brought her straight to the bathroom to avoid getting blood on the carpet or bed, and she lowered herself gingerly into the tub with a hiss.

Tim retraced his steps, grabbing their belongings and the M110 from the car. When he came back into the room, he could hear the water running in the shower.

"Bring me a clean shirt and that duct tape."

He rifled through the backpack and the plastic Walmart bag with her things and found the duct tape she'd used at Ibsen's house, but there weren't any clean shirts. "All your shirts are used."

"A pair of the underwear will do, then."

He found the pack of Hanes she'd purchased and grabbed a rolled up pair from the bag and brought them to her. She had stripped down and was sitting in the bottom of the tub as she cleaned her wound. Now that he saw it in the light, it wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought. It was only about an inch and a half long, and it had mostly stopped bleeding, so it likely wasn't too deep. Still, there was a disconcerting amount of color accumulated in the water.

She turned off the faucet and looked up at him. "It's mostly dirt," she said, holding her hand out for the items she'd requested. He handed them to her wordlessly. Normally, he would have had a sarcastic retort, but his brain was fuzzy with fury and confusion.

Kathryn stood and used a motel towel to dab at her wound. When it was sufficiently dry, she folding the briefs into a neat square and placed them over the cut before wrapping the duct tape around her torso multiple times to hold it in place. Then, she stepped out of the tub, wrapped the towel around herself and walked into the bedroom.

Tim sat down on the lid of the toilet. He clasped his hands in front of him, squeezing them together as hard as he could as he watched the dirty water swirl around the tub and eventually disappear down the drain. He sat there for another moment, reigning himself in. He looked down at his hands and realized there was a fair amount of Kathryn's blood still on his palms. He stood and scrubbed his hands vigorously, taking out his frustration on the skin of his fingers.

Tim left the bathroom and found Kathryn once again wearing the Grizzlies shirt he'd given her. A small, mean part of him wanted to take it back. She was searching through the plastic bags he'd brought in and he watched her pull the bottle of scotch from one of them.

"You wanna tell me what the hell is going on?"

She didn't even look at him as she filled a paper coffee cup to the brim. "You want any?'

"Look at me," he said. But she didn't. Instead, she half-filled a second cup and handed it to him before collapsing into the lone armchair in the room.

"What's got your panties in a bunch, Deputy?" She took a long drink from her cup and leaned her head back against the chair, her wet hair beginning to leave a watermark on the golden fabric.

"Why'd we flee that scene like we just held up a 7-Eleven?"

Kathryn sat up and tucked her legs underneath her into a cross-legged position. She looked more than tired; the circles under her eyes seemed to take up most of her face and her color didn't look right. Under normal circumstances, he would be driving her to a hospital to at least be checked out by a physician, but he suspected that was not what she wanted.

"I told you I would do whatever it took to intercept that truck. To finish the job I'd started. I told you that not everything I was going to do might be straightforward. You wanted to come anyway." She drank some more and Tim gave in to the temptation as well. The liquor tasted like ash in his mouth, too peaty and dank for his taste buds. So he tossed it back in one large gulp to avoid the flavor without missing the pleasant warmth it left in its wake.

"You didn't tell me that I was going to leave a semi-truck full of underage victims in the middle of a dark forest."

She shrugged and it irritated the hell out of him. "I needed information from the person I work for. I needed her to send in the cavalry when the time came. None of that would have happened if I told her you were still here. As far as anyone is concerned, you returned home after you botched your assignment and are currently wallowing in your apartment reading Tolkien's complete bibliography. That's the way it has to be."

Tim was angry. More than angry; he was furious in a way he hadn't been in a long time. But when he returned Kathryn's gaze, he saw she was being truthful. At least, as truthful as she'd ever been with him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It would've been really hard for me to do this all on my own tonight. Having you there... I needed you. Your skills. I didn't know if you'd accompany me if I told you." She ducked her eyes away from his and took another long sip of her drink. Tim walked over to the bottle and poured himself another double before throwing it back unceremoniously and dropping onto the bed.

The motel he'd pulled into was laid out in a large X-shape, and he had chosen the room at the end of one of the arms as far from the office and the road as he could. Because he'd chosen their room based solely on its location, he hadn't inquired about the occupancy. The room they were in had only one bed and he realized suddenly how that might look to Kathryn. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, but she seemed as unperturbed as a person who'd just killed multiple men could be; still tucked into the chair drinking scotch whiskey out of a paper cup.

"What now?" he asked.

"Now? Now we're done. You go home; I go home. My boss handles the paperwork."

That seemed suspiciously simple to Tim and he said as much, "There's no way we both walk away from this without any repercussions."

"You do," she said, "and you let me worry about the rest." She paused and then smiled at him. "You did good, Deputy Gutterson."

Tim sneered. "I'm not so sure." He untied his boots and kicked them off before untucking his shirt and sitting back against the headboard. He folded his arms across his chest in what he knew was a petulant display, but he didn't care. He was hungry. He was angry. He was tired. Perhaps not as tired as Kathryn, but he could still feel it deep in the marrow of his bones.

He had resigned himself to an evening spent in silence when he heard Kathryn's voice, quiet and clear.

"You did a good thing tonight, Tim, even if you don't believe me. You saved the lives of those children. Dozens of them. They get to go back to their families. They'll be allowed to go to school and grow up free from this. None of that would have been possible without you."

Tim thought about those small, terrified faces staring out at him from the back of the truck. He wondered how many there had been. Too many, he decided. "How many... shipments... have you intercepted?" He hated the way the word felt in his mouth, talking about human beings like cargo.

"This is the largest by far. I've spent all this time working my way up, engendering trust with vile men. This is the closest I've ever been to the top. To being able to stop them, truly, forever. If that CI hadn't talked..." she drifted off. Tim could see that she was teetering on the edge of drunk. With the amount of physical activity and lack of food, he wasn't surprised. She wasn't being shy about her drink, either, and he could see her cup was almost empty. She must have realized the same thing because she finally unfurled herself from the chair and walked over to the bottle, tipping the last of its contents into her cup.

She leaned--a bit precariously, Tim thought--against the dresser.

"This work is punishing. Demanding. Depressing." She took a drink, "But I wouldn't change it. Tonight; all the other nights like it. Makes it worth it."

"Is this all you do?"

"Pretty much," she said. "Of course, weapons and drugs go hand-in-hand with human misery. I've been asked more than once to put aside my work in favor of helping some asshole collar a low level drug offender. But I was recruited specifically to work human trafficking cases."

"Who recruited you?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could.

"Ah, Deputy, you're mistaken if you think I'm that drunk." Tim couldn't pretend he didn't like the coy smirk that lifted the edges of her mouth over her cup.

"Can't blame me for trying," he said.

Kathryn was swaying gently from side to side, still half-leaned against the dresser with her cup held loosely in one hand, curled against her chest. She was smiling and he found himself smiling, too, despite the cruelty they had witnessed and perpetrated in the preceding hours.

Kathryn looked up at him and tossed back the last of her drink. "Today was a good day, Deputy."

Tim wasn't sure whether he agreed with her. He had certainly had worse days, but he thought her metric for 'good' must be pretty skewed to categorize the past 24 hours as anything other than fatiguing. He leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. For a moment, he was awash in blissful silence.

He heard Kathryn put her cup down and when he opened his eyes again, she was sliding onto the bed. She swung one leg over his torso and sat against his hips. The thought came to him, unbidden, that it was the same way she'd been straddling that dead man in the woods. He could feel his body tense beneath her, but she seemed utterly relaxed. He wondered if perhaps he should have had as much to drink as she had.

Tim felt self-conscious under Kathryn's close and attentive gaze. She was studying his face intimately and he wondered whether he had smeared blood or dirt on himself without realizing. Kathryn brought her hands up to his face and for a moment he thought she was going to wipe something off it. But instead, she leaned forward and kissed him softly.

This felt totally different than the other times she'd kissed him; no longer raw and hungry, this was something else entirely. Her fingers slid back into his hair and the back of her nails scraped gently against his scalp. It triggered a warm tingling sensation that spread from his head, down his spine, and all the way to his toes. He couldn't remember ever being touched so gently by anyone, and it felt euphoric. Her mouth was still on his, and he rested his hands carefully on her thighs, enjoying each small movement and sensation.

And then she pulled away just far enough that only the tips of their noses were touching. She gazed steadily into his eyes--a silent question. One that he answered by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

As he did, his hands grazed the makeshift bandage at her side. "I don't want to hurt you," he said.

She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "I know."

And then she was kissing him again.

#

Afterward, he wanted to hold her, but he knew that if he slept he would dream, and he didn't want to wake her when he did. Instead, he took a cleansing and much needed shower, and then settled into the armchair with _The Hobbit_. He focused on each individual word intently, preferring the fictional dilemmas of Middle Earth to the reality of his day. Tomorrow, he would be back in Lexington. This detour would be over. He would unpack and re-pack his go bag, and head into the Marshals office with coffee. He was going to be exhausted for days, and he wished he could take an actual vacation day, though he knew Art would never stand for it.

Art. _Shit._

Tim reached for his cellphone and flipped it open. Reluctantly, he played the voicemail Art had left him earlier. The message began without preamble, "Damn it, Tim, answer your goddamn phone! Raylan's in some shit with this cartel and I need you back at the office. Your vacation is officially cancelled. Get here!"

Now Tim looked even less forward to returning to work in the morning. He was sure Art would not forgive being ignored. Rachel's message was less aggressive, but just as urgent, "Hi Tim. Sorry to bother you on your day off, but if you could come to the office, it would be a big help. I'd owe you one. If not, see you tomorrow."

Tim closed the phone and placed it on the bedside table. He looked over at the bed and saw Kathryn sleeping soundly, with the comforter tucked tightly under her chin. He wondered where she would be going tomorrow when they finally parted ways. He wondered a lot of things about her, and even more about the brief time they'd spent together. He imagined he would be drinking about this week a lot in the coming days as he replayed his unanswered questions in his mind and reviewed the shots he took, and those he didn't.

He thought of her tattoos and wondered if they were in a database somewhere that he had access to. While seeking her out that way would certainly be an abuse of his power as a Deputy U.S. Marshal, he figured it might be the only way he'd ever learn enough about her to satisfy his curiosity. Her last name. Who she worked for. How old she was. He knew once the adrenaline had dissipated and his mind was cleared by a good night's sleep, he would regret sleeping with her. It was possible he would regret most of this week.

And then he saw all those faces again and realized that she was right, at least in part. Today had been worth it to help them. To save them. Even if some of this shit did fly back at him later, he knew that much was true.

Tim settled back in with his book, glad for the escape.


	13. An Epilogue (But Not the End)

Kathryn roused herself just after five in the morning. Tim watched her over the top of his book as she stretched and then winced reflexively. She said nothing as she headed into the bathroom, and he must have drifted off in his chair after she'd turned the shower on because the next thing he knew, she was leaned over him saying, "Come on, Deputy. I'll drive so you can get some sleep."

Tim didn't argue. "I'll be out in a sec," he said and tucked the book under his arm before heading into the bathroom. His reflection looked like shit and he hoped it was just the unflattering overhead lighting because he couldn't have blamed someone if they mistook him for a zombie if he looked half as bad as the thing staring back at him from the mirror. He splashed some cold water on his face and swished some more around his mouth to get the sticky feeling off his teeth. When he came out, Kathryn and all of their belongings were already gone, so he tugged on his shoes and headed out to the car to meet her. He wondered how she had managed to pack all of their things away without waking him, and realized he must have been even more tired than he looked.

In just under two hours, they would reach the Lexington Courthouse and then he and Kathryn would part ways. He had no way of knowing whether she was right when she said none of the things they had done together would blow back on him. He was still sure that someone would contact him in the future in order to provide a report, or at the very least a statement to corroborate hers. Maybe she just meant that he wouldn't have to deal with it directly or immediately.

It was a pleasant morning and Kathryn rolled down her window to let in the cool air. Tim watched the sun rising slowly, painting the sky a myriad of bright and optimistic colors that didn't suit his mood.

"You doing okay over there, Deputy?" Kathryn glanced over at him and he figured maybe it wasn't just the motel lights that had made him look like two-day old roadkill.

"I'll manage," he said, preferring not to talk much. He was tired and trying to figure out how in the hell he would make it through the day, especially with Art up his ass.

"You should try to get some sleep."

Tim couldn't disagree with her and wouldn't have had the energy to do so, anyway. So he slid down in his seat and rested his head back against it; folded his arms over his chest and let his eyes close. They felt like they were made of concrete, they were so heavy. Kathryn had started playing some music before he'd even gotten into the car, but he hadn't noticed it much until now. He thought back to the moment he'd seen her with all those CDs in her hands at the Walmart and he still thought it was a waste of resources, especially for someone as ruthlessly efficient as Kathryn had since proved herself to be. Still, he had to admit that he didn't mind this music as much as the others she'd played. It was folksy and calm, and he drifted off to sleep following a new melody into a chorus of harmonicas.

#

Tim woke up when Kathryn slammed her door closed. They were parked back in the visitors' lot and she was already grabbing her belongings from the trunk. Tim opened his door and unfurled himself. He had a nasty pain in his neck from sleeping in the car.

"Good morning, sunshine," Kathryn said as she closed the trunk. She had a Walmart bag in one hand with the backpack he'd bought her over the same shoulder, and she was holding the M110 case in the crook of her right arm. She stretched her hand toward him as far as she could with the rifle restricting her movements. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Deputy Gutterson. Please remember the work you completed with us is not to be discussed with your fellow Marshals."

Tim had a lot of things he wanted to say, but he settled for the handshake alone. His brain was too foggy to come up with a decent remark, anyway. Still, this felt surreal. Everything that had happened was just water under some bridge he'd never cross again. And this woman who had been so gentle and vulnerable in his bed the night before was now brusque and businesslike, thanking him for his service. He wanted to say something useful or profound, but all he came up with was: "How are you getting out of here? You don't have a car."

Kathryn smiled. "Don't worry about me, Deputy. You just get home safe and get some coffee." With that, she turned to leave. He watched her as she marched across the parking lot with a million unanswered questions zipping through his head too fast for him to catch a single one. And then she rounded a distant corner of the courthouse and she was gone.

Tim debated whether he should return home or simply sleep in his vehicle until it was time to punch in. But the thought of a hot cup of his own coffee and a shower in his own apartment was too tempting to pass up, so he slid into the driver's seat and turned the car on. When he did, he was met with the same solemn music he'd fallen asleep to; Kathryn had either forgotten the album or left it for him. He decided she was too detail oriented for the first, which left him wondering why the second.

As he pulled out of the lot, he turned the volume up and found himself enjoying the enigmatic gift.

#

Tim's sojourn to his apartment was shorter than he would have liked, but the brief visit gave him enough time to get a good shower and some fresh clothes while the coffee brewed. He filled his largest tumbler with as much of the good stuff as he could before turning around and heading back to work. He had about a half hour before he needed to leave, but inertia was his only ally on a day when he was this tired. If he stopped, he knew he wouldn't be able to start again. So instead, he just kept going.

There was some paperwork on his desk that he picked up and finished when he first got in. He had a feeling he wouldn't have time for such trivial administrative matters later.

Rachel was the first other person in the office, which was no surprise, but he was still glad for it. "Well look at you, Mr. Vacation," she said as she dropped her things on her desk before walking over to his. "Art is ready to kill you, you know. You're lucky he has bigger problems."

"Who did Princess Raylan shoot this time?"

"A couple of people, looks like, but he's still in Miami, so I don't know for sure." Miami. Shit, Art was definitely going to be on a rampage today. "You sure you took a vacation?" Rachel asked. "You look awful tired for a man who just spent two days relaxing."

Tim decided that a lascivious half-truth would suffice. "Well, with the right companion, vacation time doesn't entail that much sleeping. Didn't Joe ever show you that?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Gross." Rachel peeled herself away from his desk and headed into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee from the pot Tim had brewed. Just then, the door to the office swung open again and Tim looked over to see his boss come pounding through it like a bull who'd breached the pen.

"Tim Gutterson! My, it's so nice to see you this morning," he said and Tim thought the sweetness in his voice sounded like it was laced with arsenic. "My office, now!" Tim followed behind Art and pulled the glass door closed behind him, so he could spare Rachel and Nelson, who was just walking in, some of the yelling.

Tim opted for levity and immediately regretted it. "What can I do for you, Chief?" Art tossed his briefcase onto the desk unceremoniously, knocking over an empty coffee mug and sending several papers fluttering to the floor. Tim thought about picking them up, be he was afraid to move.

"Tim, where were you?"

"I'm sorry, Art, but I was camping and didn't have any service. I saw the call this morning on my drive in."

Art looked at him. "Camping, huh? I thought you said you were just gonna stay in and do some reading?"

"Yeah, well, the four walls of my apartment got a little to close, so I left."

Tim knew that Art would probably guess he was lying. He was simply relying on the fact that he couldn't prove that he was. "You're on transport detail with Nelson until further notice," he said and Tim wanted to roll his eyes, but he did his best to look resolutely neutral. "And when Raylan gets back from Miami," Art pointed at Tim as he finally took a seat behind his desk, "you're gonna babysit him for me."

Tim couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes.

#

That first day back was mostly a blur. All Tim really remembered was how blissfully he had slept that night. Despite everything that had occurred in the preceding days, he didn't dream, and so he awoke the next morning feeling a decade younger and truly reinvigorated. Between phone duty and prison transport, Tim spent his time searching through databases where he found a disturbing amount of information about Solkov, Melnik, and Popescu; info that Kathryn had left out of the initial report she'd given him. Still, he could find nothing about her anywhere.

A few days after he'd gotten back, he took his lunch break at a little cafe around the corner from the courthouse. As he was paying for his sandwich and coffee at the register, a newspaper caught his eye and he bought it. On his walk back to the office, be pulled it open and read all about Ralph Ibsen's arrest after an anonymous tip from a neighbor alerted authorities to child pornography in his house. He was being arraigned and the trial would likely take place in a few months. Even in the article, though, there was no reference to an arresting officer or a woman named Kathryn at all. In fact, aside from the local PD, there weren't any mentions of law enforcement.

As much as he tried, Tim couldn't get Kathryn out of his mind and it was frustrating. In addition, his usual dreams of death and destruction overseas had been replaced with terrified little faces staring out at him from the dark. He woke up in a cold sweat more than once, blinking to erase them from his mind's eye. He wasn't ashamed to say that he'd slept with his bedside lamp on more than once so the shadows of his bedroom couldn't play tricks on him when he awoke.

One morning when Art called him into his office with a big grin and a, "Today's your lucky day!" he knew he was in for it. Art's excitement stemmed from the fact that he'd managed to combine both of Tim's punishments into one by having him transport an inmate with Raylan. A pregnant one, no less. And of course because it was Raylan, shit hit the fan pretty quickly. Tim was satisfied to be tracking a woman and her unborn child, but then things took an insidious turn, and suddenly he was reminded of all those faces again. When Raylan told the sniveling guard they'd tracked down as the baby's father (and the one intent on selling him or her) to "shut the hell up or Tim is going to hit you in the face," Tim realized he didn't even know how right he is. What Tim actually wanted to do was to stomp the man's face under his boot, but he didn't say that. He also had to admit (to himself, at least) that it was the most he'd ever liked Raylan.

And then he shot a man in the head, splashing blood onto an expectant mother's surprised and terrified face. And that image nestled itself down into his gut, where it took root and wouldn't let go. His dreams were no longer a sea of indiscernible faces, but only Jamie Berglund's and her baby's.

That night, Tim had returned home feeling heavy and sick. He poured himself a bourbon and collapsed onto the couch, too fearful of his dreams to use the bed. And he did what he had found himself doing nearly every night since his return. He put the CD that Kathryn had left in his car on and let himself drift away for a while in the music.

#

 _Everything that I have loved has turned to stone, so pack your bags and come back home.  
_ _And I'm wasted, you can taste it. Don't look at me that way._  
 _'Cause I'll be hanging form a rope. I will haunt you like a ghost.  
_ _If my woman was a fire, she'd burn out before I wake and be replaced by pints of whiskey, cigarettes, and outer space._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you & your loved ones are all staying safe out there. <3


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